


Hiatus

by aishahiwatari



Series: Suspension [1]
Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Break Up, Breaking Up & Making Up, Idiots Attempting to be Just Friends, Lots of drinking, M/M, Not Beta Read, Pining, Swearing, Unhealthy Coping Mechanisms
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-09
Updated: 2019-05-12
Packaged: 2020-01-07 13:27:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 29,352
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18411584
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/aishahiwatari/pseuds/aishahiwatari
Summary: Everyone has known since he and Jim started dating, since they became friends even, how it would end.Jim was always going to up and run.It's three years before Leonard finds out why.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> The word hiatus can be used to refer to a gaping opening in anything, for example a relationship or poor Leonard McCoy's still-beating heart.

Chapel comes over for dinner one night. Jim cooks -he usually does, since he works fewer hours than Leonard- and he’s a little subdued, quieter than usual. Leonard shoots him a couple of curious looks but since they have company, he’s waved away with ghosts of sincere smiles. It’s odd, but not overly concerning.

Chapel certainly doesn’t seem to think so; when Jim excuses himself to use the bathroom, she asks, “Do you think you’ll ever get married again?”

It’s a deeply loaded question. Chapel saw Leonard cope poorly with his divorce, has seen him through his burgeoning relationship with Jim for just over a year now. Recently, her fiancé left her. He doesn’t really want to get involved in a deep, philosophical discussion. So instead of his usual response _–“Why in the hell would I do that when I got it so wrong the first time? I wouldn’t want to change anything about what I have right now.”-_ he just shrugs and says, “Maybe.”

Apparently, that’s sufficient. Chapel continues talking and the conversation drifts on in the direction of something else. That’s probably for the best. Jim can be a little touchy about the subject of marriage and if he’s already a little down, the last thing Leonard wants is to make him feel any worse.

He hopes nothing happened at work; Jim’s on limited hours at the garage as it is and although he usually manages to scrape his half of the rent, it’s not leaving a whole lot of money for anything else. Jim needs his independence. Leonard has never, not once, regretted moving in with him after six months of dating. With his hours, commuting and Jim’s varied shifts, they would never have seen each other if they hadn’t. But it’s hardly fair, with the location he needs for work, to be expecting Jim to pay half of an apartment he would never have chosen otherwise.

Leonard will bring it up soon. That evening, he settles for wrapping his arms around Jim’s waist from behind and kissing his neck as he does the dishes. It usually makes Jim smile and fidget and push for more. This time, he just sags, body melting back into Leonard’s as his breath leaves him in a long sigh.

“Everything alright, darlin’?”

Jim doesn’t answer, just turns without putting any more space between them and kisses him. He’s been known to use sex as a diversionary tactic, so Leonard is ready for that, but Jim doesn’t seem to want anything but the warm embrace, the soft press of lips and the slow, wet slide of their tongues. Leonard’s used to him saying _I love you_ in those unusual, wordless ways and when they finally separate, Jim’s eyes are wider and wetter and darker, more open than Leonard’s ever seen them. So he thinks that’s what he’s trying to say.

It's not uncommon for them to go to bed at different times. When Leonard goes first and Jim murmurs about joining him later, he thinks nothing of it. He kisses Jim goodnight, gets that look again and risks telling him how beautiful he is. Jim is closer to believing him than he ever has been, Leonard knows.

When he wakes up, he’s alone. He doesn’t remember Jim even coming to bed.

“Jim?” he calls, and when he receives no response, thinks maybe he fell asleep on the couch.

He didn’t. He’s not in the apartment. He hasn’t texted or left a note. It’s because he knows Jim better than anyone that Leonard has a feeling, checks the laundry basket in the bathroom to find it empty of Jim’s clothing. His rucksack is gone, too. And the keys to his bike, his helmet and his jacket.

When Leonard sees Jim’s phone on the coffee table his lungs seem to contract all at once and he lets out an involuntary, dry sob, collapses on the couch because he knows. Everyone has known since he and Jim started dating, since they became friends even, how it would end.

Jim was always going to up and run.

-

Leonard literally sets a timer on his phone to last a week. For those seven days and nights, he navigates around the fragments of their shared lives, their combined bookshelves, foodstuffs and clothing with a sharp pang in his heart every time. Jim even pays for their Netflix account. He keeps Jim’s phone charged and with him. Nobody calls. A couple of casual texts come through from people Jim doesn’t know that well, the pizza place they order from. They all know as much as Leonard does.

Leonard watches the timer count down the last ten seconds. Jim hasn’t contacted him, hasn’t left a note anywhere Leonard might reasonably have found it. He’s gone. Leonard sighs, downs the last of his cold coffee, hauls himself to his feet, leaves the staff lounge and gets back to work.

He packs everything of Jim’s away, sets another timer. After a month, it goes to the thrift store. Everything except a couple of items Leonard can’t bring himself to part with. A photo frame containing a picture of Jim’s parents, young and smiling, too long ago for there to be a digital copy anywhere. An ancient leather-bound book of poetry, a Haynes manual for Jim’s first ever bike, with a message inside the cover from Chris, his godfather. The phone, too. Those items, Leonard keeps in a box concealed in the back of his closet. He tries not to think about them. He gets his own Netflix.

Mostly he works. Time heals all wounds, he tells himself, every day he wakes up and the darkness taking hold in his chest threatens to consume him. He just has to get through every day. And he does. Even though the apartment is achingly cold and empty, so quiet he feels like he’s going mad with it sometimes. Even though every time his phone rings, his heart aches, irrespective of the fact he’s had a different ringtone for Jim ever since they first met. Some part of him is aware that their relationship had been deeply, unhealthily co-dependent. It doesn’t really help to know. He’d do the same thing all over again, if it brought the colour back into his life that Jim did.

When his lease runs out five or so months after that, he moves to a new apartment, just far enough away to consider himself in a new neighbourhood, so he doesn’t have to walk past all the memories every day. The pain is less sharp, but still ever-present. Chapel is the only person at work with any idea of what’s happening. She defends him when colleagues at work complain about his temper being short. He resolves to do better and buys her dinner to say thank you.

The rumour mill goes nuts about that one, for a while. Leonard can’t bring himself to be amused by it.

It turns out Chapel is not quite the only one who knows, anyway. One day, Leonard is called into the office of the Chief of Medicine, is vaguely panicked by the concept until he sees the family photo on the man’s desk.

Doctor Philip Boyce is a good man. “I’ve been asked not to say anything. But I just wanted to tell you that he’s safe. I thought it would help you to know.”

Bizarrely, it does. Occasionally Leonard has wondered if he did the right thing by refusing to react. In his weaker moments, he has entertained thoughts of Jim being kidnapped, of their separation being against his will. Of being able to bring him back. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Will you be applying for the vacancy in the Psychiatric department?”

Leonard looks up in surprise. He’s not even dared to consider it; doesn’t have anything like the amount of experience requested in the ad. It’s for the head of the department. “I hadn’t decided yet.”

“You should. You’re qualified.”

“I will. Thank you.”

-

Leonard gets the job. He’s more surprised than anyone, except maybe Jocelyn, who calls to tell him that and then invites him over for Thanksgiving dinner. Her family is insane, but he would never pass up the opportunity to spend time with Jo. He’s only been allowed short visits for years.

“I don’t see any reason why she can’t come and stay now and then, now you’ve got no roommates to worry about,” Jocelyn says, as he leaves, and he can’t formulate a coherent response before she shuts the front door between them.

He hates to think of it in the context of it being worth all the pain, but occasionally he does. Jo gets her own room, with nobody else sharing Leonard’s space, roommate or otherwise. He can’t even contemplate it. Not yet, maybe not ever. He had promised himself that he wouldn’t make the same mistakes again after the first time, and his track record hasn’t exactly improved since then.

They get to know each other. She’s seven, mind-bogglingly smart and so beautiful it sometimes hurts to look at her. Leonard can’t believe he got something so right. With his more regular shifts, he can have her to stay every other weekend. They develop a routine. It gives him something to base his life around that isn’t work.

Chapel drags him along to a singles’ night at a bar without telling him what it is. While she mingles, Leonard heads for the bar and successfully fends off all attempts at conversation until miraculously he meets someone with a very important similar interest.

Scotty is insane, has no interest in sleeping with him, and is willing to recommend enough brands of scotch whiskey to have them both laughing uproariously by the end of the night.

“I swear, I have no idea what happened to that dog!”

Leonard wipes tears from his eyes, honestly can’t remember laughing so hard in years. The two of them leave together too, since they live close, and the theory is that the fresh air will do them good. Also, it means Scotty vomits copiously into a bush rather than in the back of a cab. He brushes off Leonard’s offers of help with impressive decorum, staggers back to his apartment, and asks if Leonard wants to come in for a nightcap.

“Are you insane?” Leonard demands to know.

He wakes up sprawled on Scotty’s couch and has a grand total of five seconds to try and get his bearings before he needs to urgently stumble into the bathroom and throw up.

“You look like shit,” Scotty tells him, as he hands over coffee. He’s unnervingly spritely.

“How do you not?”

“Tactical vom. Highly recommended.”

Leonard swallows down bile. “That is not healthy.”

“Neither is what we’re about to eat for breakfast!”

“Oh, God, I hate you.”

It’s a sentiment he repeats loudly and often over the following year or so of their friendship. It’s easy, low pressure, and exactly what Leonard needs.

Well, maybe it’s not what his liver and arteries need, but he can’t be that choosy.

So when Scotty calls him at 5am when he knows Leonard has to be up at 7, Leonard doesn’t give him too much abuse. “This had better be good.”

_“You’re a doctor, right?”_

No good conversation has ever started with those words. “Are you alright?”

_“I’m fine. But I’m babysitting for a night. Carol’s little one, he’s been sick a couple of times. I think he’s feverish. He feels hot.”_

Leonard hadn’t even known Carol had a kid. Then again, he doesn’t know her that well. She doesn’t seem to like him much. “What’s his temperature?”

_“Thirty-seven point five.”_

“In real money, Scotty.”

_“Oh, fuck, right- ninety-nine point five.”_

Leonard sighs. He’s up, and in search of clothing he can reasonably go to work in after whatever the hell this turns out to be. “Is he less responsive than usual? Any blood in his vomit? Does he have a head injury?”

_“None of that.”_

“How old is he?”

_“Uhh-“_

“Under five?”

_“Yes. Probably. Is that bad?”_

“He’s probably fine. Try and get him to drink little sips of water if you can. I’ll be ten minutes.”

_“You are a lifesaver.”_

The child -David, apparently- is dozing fitfully by the time Leonard gets there. He does feel a little hot, but he’s no more irritable than Leonard would expect for that time of the morning. Scotty, on the other hand, is thoroughly freaking out despite Leonard’s attempts to calm him down or alternatively glare him into submission.

“You want me to stay and keep an eye on him for an hour or two?” he asks, pretty much rhetorically.

“His dad’s due to pick him up at eight. Do you mind? Just in case?”

Scotty looks terrible, like he’s had no sleep at al. Leonard remembers those nights with Jo, the anxiety that came with knowing everything that could possibly go wrong. He can call into work and let them know he’ll be a little late.

“No problem.”

For a moment, he thinks Scotty might hug him. It must have been a rough night. Instead, he just goes to make coffee. Leonard checks David’s temperature again, just in case. It’s a little high, but not disconcertingly so. He doesn’t seem dehydrated. And he hasn’t vomited again. Leonard’s not too worried, but he doesn’t want to rule anything out. He doesn’t get to deal directly with too many patients, these days.

He and Scotty sit and talk on the floor of the spare room, David finally settling a little into some low-key playing with his toys when it’s properly light outside. Leonard emails his boss, receives an understanding reply. He’s actually not feeling too bad, after a bacon sandwich and two cups of Scotty’s perilously strong coffee, and the knock at the door signals his imminent departure. While Scotty answers it, Leonard does a couple of last checks. David blinks sulkily at him but allows him to use the thermometer one last time. Leonard does his best to murmur reassuringly. No parent wants to come back to their kid screaming.

Then he hears voices, and for a moment considers screaming himself.

“Scotty, it’s fine. He’s been sick before. I’ll take him to the doctor if he gets any worse, I promise.”

“Son of a bitch,” Leonard breathes, because that’s Jim. David’s dad is Jim, and he’d never said, even though David has to be at least two, maybe three. He doesn’t know what’s worse, thinking that Jim left to be with him and his mother, or that he left to get away from them, too.

Somehow, he stands. David is alright, waves vaguely at him, and Leonard won’t let what happens next be in front of him. Kids see so much.

Leonard takes a deep breath and steps out into the hall.

“Oh, Len. David’s alright, isn’t he?” It’s Scotty who asks, and it’s Scotty who Leonard addresses.

“He’s alright. If his fever goes above a hundred it’d probably be best to take him to- well, another doctor.”

“Thanks again for coming. Have you met Jim?”

Leonard’s voice catches before he can say anything in response to that. He doesn’t dare look in Jim’s direction, although he can feel the tension emanating from him. In his peripheral, he recognises the leather jacket, absorbs the expression of silent horror. “I’ll catch up with you later, Scotty.”

“Alright. Later.” Scotty, God bless him, is not the type to cause an emotional scene, curious though he clearly is.

It’s at odds with the hand that wraps around Leonard’s wrist when he goes to leave. He’d forgotten how fast Jim can move, meets his eyes before he can stop himself and they’re that same heart-wrenchingly beautiful blue, wide and open and distraught.

“He’s nearly three. Carol didn’t even tell me until after- I swear I didn’t, not while we were-“ Jim’s voice cracks and he stutters to a halt.

Leonard can’t entirely blame him. He doesn’t know what they were doing back then, either. Only one thought makes it as far as his vocal chords. “Let go of me.”

Jim does, immediately. He’s more gorgeous than ever, face growing chiselled with maturity. He has a kid. He hasn’t said a thing to Leonard in close to three years.

Leonard’s voice is hard but carefully not loud. “For reference, this is how you do it. I don’t want to be here with you, so I’m leaving.”

He sees no more than an instant before he walks away; Jim sways back, almost crumples, has to lean against the wall to steady himself. For some awful, hateful reason, it feels like a knife through Leonard’s heart, too, brings back all the pain he’d thought he had worked past, damnit!

There was a time when he would have stayed with Jim forever but he had known, had told himself that it was impossible. Jim is and always will be energy and light, and he can’t be contained. Leonard could no more have told him not to go than forced him to stay, but he has never understood why he wasn’t allowed just the closure of knowing why.

David’s adorable, too, a tiny version of his father, those blue eyes and blond hair and his face so similar now Leonard knows to make the comparison. He’s the sweetest, most innocent possible incarnation of the life Leonard could have had, if only-

The suppressed anger carries him as far as his car. He genuinely doesn’t want to see Jim any more, can’t stand the flood of emotions it brings back, the uncertainty, the wondering what he could possibly have done wrong. He had thought he was doing better, feeling better.

He makes it two blocks before he has to pull over, put his head in his hands and really, properly cry for the first time for everything he never had, but still feels like he lost.


	2. Chapter 2

 “I swear I didn’t know,” is the first thing Scotty says, when Leonard next stops by his apartment.

Leonard waves it away; it’s been a couple of days since he somehow managed to drive home with eyes still blurred with tears to crawl into bed and sob, drinking himself into oblivion twice before he felt like he could function again.

“I know. It’s alright. It was just a shock. Is David alright?” It’s still a wrench to ask about Jim’s son, his beautiful boy, but Leonard is determined to be decent, if not happy about it.

“Yeah. Sorry I called you panicking. Have you- been crying?” Scotty actually takes a step backwards as he asks.

Leonard glares. “I’m not about to burst into hysterics. Just needed to get it out of my system. Jim and I- we were close.”

Scotty looks doubtful. Oh, yeah. Leonard remembers that look, actually. He used to get it a lot from anyone who- “Oh, God, you slept with him, didn’t you?”

“Maybe once. He didn’t- if it helps, he never called-“

“I’m not pining over a damn one-night stand here, Scotty. We dated for over a year. We lived together.”

Scotty still looks doubtful. Leonard sighs. He knows Scotty isn’t trying to be deliberately unhelpful, but he might as well be. It hurts to talk about it, still, but Leonard hopes that giving voice to the feelings might set him free from them, however briefly. Or at least Scotty will suggest they get incredibly drunk.

"I know it doesn't seem like him. But I loved him and- well, I thought he loved me. We dated. We moved in together. He was faithful, apparently. I thought we were happy. I certainly was. I would have done anything for him. I still- have no idea what happened. I woke up one morning and he was gone. Left without even a note. What you heard the other day- those were the first words he's said to me in three years. I would never have stopped him. I just- ah, fuck." Leonard rubs at his eyes with a clenched fist, trying to stem the tears that threaten to spill. "I just wanted to know why. What the fuck I did wrong that made him change him mind about- us."

Scotty is already pouring scotch. He's a good friend.

-

"He's not dating Carol any more, you know." Scotty says, later.

"I literally met the two of you at a singles' night, so I did gather that, yes."

"Oh yeah." Scotty laughs. "We drank way too much that night." He's already pouring more whiskey. Leonard downs his.

-

"I don't think he's dating anyone," Scotty says, later still.

"It has been well established-" Leonard has to pause to pour steady- "That Jim does not date."

-

"He asked about you," even Scotty knows to say gently.

Leonard hates that a horrible, agonising hope takes hold at the words. "I don't care."

"Asked how we knew each other. I told him the truth."

Leonard's brain is a touch too fuzzy to immediately make sense of that complex statement. "What?"

"Said we'd met at a singles' night. Got very drunk. Staggered home together. Fell into bed."

Leonard laughs. The ceiling spins in front of his face. "Oh, I'm gonna throw up."

"You're welcome!" Scotty calls after him.

-

Leonard goes to the twenty-four hour supermarket at some godforsaken hour because he has nothing at home and as a department head he's not supposed to work overtime, certainly doesn't get paid for it, but somehow it happens anyway. He's got some veggies and pasta and is contemplating what meat to add, staring blearily at the display when he registers the sudden cessation of movement in his peripheral vision. He looks, of course, because dealing with strange behaviour is his job.

It's Jim. Because of course it is. In one of forty aisles in a supermarket at two in the damn morning. Because they've lived in the same damn city for three years and never seen one another until that week when the universe apparently attempts to make up for lost time. Why would it not? There's no Scotty to act as a buffer then, either.

It hurts just to look at him. So Leonard doesn't. He's exhausted, throws some ground beef in his basket then immediately wishes he hadn't because Jim will know it's his comfort food. And then he walks away.

He tells himself that he's not disappointed that Jim doesn't follow him. What the hell could he possibly say that makes Leonard feel any better?

Maybe it would just make a difference if Jim even bothered to try.

-

Leonard tries to get out of the office at lunchtimes, whenever he can. Apparently it's good for his mental health. One day, he's running a little later than usual, just stops to grab a decent cup of coffee. He's still fielding urgent emails, is staring down at his phone while he waits at the counter when- "Jim!" One of the baristas greets.

"Oh, you are fucking kidding me," Leonard mutters, or maybe just says judging by the number of people who give him dirty looks or curious stares in response. Because it is Jim, again, like Leonard venturing into public spaces is some sort of sirens call to him. Where the hell does he live and work anyway, to have such a similar routine? It hardly seems fair that Leonard should move away from all the old memories just to be creating new damn ones. 

Jim hasn't noticed him -he couldn't possibly be heartless enough to flirt quite so blatantly with the guy serving him if he were, could he?- and seems to get his coffee order ahead of people waiting. It's practically already ready by the time he finishes asking for it.

Leonard remembers being on the receiving end of that charm. Feeling like Jim could see the whole universe but had chosen to focus only on him, just for a moment. Like he was special, deserving of that kind of attention.

It seems ridiculous, now Leonard thinks about it. He's a doctor, skilled but only really with one thing, his specialty impossible to witness, only to hear about in terms no normal person could hope to understand. People see him for as long as it takes for him to give them good or terrible news, and then they return to their lives. He's not exciting, or vibrant or charming. Maybe it's no wonder Jim got bored with him.

"Doctor?" Chelsea is the one barista who attempts to make conversation with him pre-coffee. She has a brother in med school, so she knows when to sneak an extra espresso shot into his drink. "Are you alright? Bad news?" she glances down at his phone and yeah, actually, it does probably look like that. Nobody in their right mind would assume he's pining for the gorgeous young man who flirts with everything that moves and rides a motorcycle and hums songs from Disney films while he cooks. Reads poetry. Loves fresh flowers. He nearly cried the first time Leonard brought him some, actually did when Leonard filled the window boxes of their apartment with them, seasonally arranged so something would always be blooming.

That Jim, Leonard misses with an awful fresh tenderness that paralyses him. Because Leonard knows that man exists, can never forget him, can only know that he is hidden away forever or only for someone else to see. He isn't sure which is worse. He wants Jim to be happy, he does, but he has convinced himself at some point that the best person to make Jim happy is him.

Leonard wonders how many years it will take him to convince himself otherwise.

"I'm alright, Chelsea, thank you. I hope you're taking care of your brother."

"I- hope someone's taking care of you too."

Oh, poor sweet girl. Leonard has to leave before she makes him cry. He forces a smile then shoulders his way out of the busy shop. He feels the tingling, the telling warmth on the back of his neck that means someone is watching him go. Probably Chelsea, he tells himself.

-

Far too late, he realises something.

"You knew," he says to Chapel, because she's good friends with Carol. There's no way she didn't know she had a son, no way she didn't know that Jim was David's father.

"Not until after!"

"And you didn't think I might have appreciated the hint?" Leonard is betrayed and furious, but Chapel is unaffected. It's not like he would ever do anything beyond raise his voice, anyway, and he's cornered her in the staff lounge at work. Hardly the place for a throw-down fight. She's heard him shout a hundred times. There's a large part of Leonard that wishes she didn't know him so well, suddenly. It makes everything worse.

"Carol asked me not to say anything."

"Well, that's- wait. To me? Or to anyone?"

Chapel looks away.

"Christine. What is going on? How the hell am I supposed to feel about this, like everyone's been laughing about how oblivious I am all this time?"

"She thought that- maybe he'd stay. She wanted him to. It wasn't like- nobody thought you were serious. You're a doctor, and you were already a father, and he-" Chapel shrugs, as though there's nothing more that needs saying.

Leonard barely hears her. He's having a crushing moment of realisation. "Did you say that to him?"

"Well, it was pretty obvious. It's all true. And then you broke up. Guess we were right. He's not worth it, Leo."

Oh, God. Leonard had never thought that finding out what had happened could make him feel even worse. 

He's had the whole thing so wrong for so long. And he's beginning to understand why he'd never been able to find an explanation for what he had done to drive Jim away. 

When he goes home, he rummages in the back of his closet until he finds the box. He still has a charger that works for the phone that Jim left, plugs it in and sets the photograph of Jim's parents aside. Instead he picks up the book of poetry, soft and worn and full, Leonard realises, of the sort of deep, heartfelt declarations of love that no layperson could ever hope to equal in intensity or fervour.

The book falls open naturally on some pages rather than others, and Leonard can't read more than a few lines of any of them without his vision blurring with tears, the emotions there too sharp and too deep, captured in the perfect words to describe a love beyond comprehension, a love indescribable and undeserved.

For the first time, his heart aches not for himself, but for Jim. Of course, Leonard had known that Jim had trouble with their inherent differences sometimes, but the surface disparities between them had never mattered to Leonard. He had thought he had made that clear, but he picks up that Haynes manual for the first time in years, flips idly through it instead of reading the message in the front and sobs out loud when the movement of the pages causes pressed flowers to fall out from where they had been concealed, colours faded but still impossibly beautiful.

"Oh, Jim," Leonard chokes out, through the tears, putting his head in his hands and having to just breathe for a moment. He fumbles for the phone next, has always known the code to open it, wonders at the blatant display of trust in that moment. It was never wiped remotely, never backed up to an external server that Leonard could tell. 

There are a few half-finished shopping lists in the notes. A few missed calls from random numbers, the odd text from someone Jim vaguely knew once.

Leonard opens the photographs and starts from the beginning. At first, it's only curiosities, reminders of events, pictures of receipts or stupid memes Leonard barely remembers. A few photos of the bike, the landscapes Jim had presumably seen while he was out on it.

The first picture of him makes Leonard's breath catch. He's unaware of the picture being taken, just looks like he's smiling at something on the TV. There's something in the lighting that makes him look warm and happy. He probably was. Leonard scrolls a little further, finds a couple more like it. Pictures of him reading, or drinking coffee with messy hair in the morning, or even just on his phone.

They hadn't known each other that well, then, had just figured out that they seemed to work well together. Leonard had been surprised, but apparently Jim had hardly been able to believe it. It's months before Leonard finds a picture where he's actually looking into the lens, still longer before he finds one of them together. 

It's the first time Jim had convinced him to go out on the back of that damn bike. They've both got helmet hair and flushed cheeks and- oh. Leonard had forgotten his phone that day. He's taking the picture, a selfie where he imagines he can see Jim knowing for the first time he'll have proof that Leonard wants to be with him, when he hadn't dared ask for it before.

There's a photo, too, of Leonard standing next to the bike, looking out over a wondrous sunset, the cityscape just visible against a blaze of yellow and orange. And Leonard has to check, but that picture, cropped to include just the bike and the sky, is the background Jim set for his phone. For the first time, Leonard knows it's a commemoration of an event, not just further proof of his obsession with the damn vehicle. 

Leonard hates himself for not seeing it, for not noticing the little vulnerabilities that built up to Jim's crippling insecurity. That eventually added up to making Jim leave, because he thought- what? That Leonard didn't love him? That he only wanted something casual? That he wouldn't want Jim if he admitted to the unfortunate series of circumstances that had led him to become a father to a child he hadn't even known existed.

God, it's such a mess. There are so many photos of the two of them after that, together and separately, just doing everyday things or making those short trips, that it's physically jarring when they suddenly run out. They look so happy together, just a day previously, and Leonard doesn't think he's imagining the smudges on the screen where Jim traced the outline of Leonard's jaw, the same sweet, affectionate gesture he had made in real life, too, that had made Leonard's heart melt as their eyes met, made him feel like he could stay there forever.

They must have changed. It's been three years spent in untold pain, but Leonard needs to know if he can feel that again.

-

He's still contemplating how to go about any of it a couple of days later -because he wants but he's not sure if he can trust, and now he knows Jim's always felt the same- when he walks into his office and find his visitors chair occupied by one Christopher Pike.

"Chris," he greets, a little fraught because he's a doctor so the terror hits before the hope. "Is everything alright?" 

"Everything's fine." Chris understands, always does, and gets to his feet to give Leonard a genuine hug. "You look well."

Leonard had almost forgotten how much he misses him. He and Chris never spent a great deal of time together, just a few dinners with Jim and Phil, a weekend at their cabin outside of town, but he's a decent man. "So do you. It's good to see you."

It's kind of bittersweet, the reminder of being part of a life in which Leonard isn't sure he'll be welcome again. Chris has that same sort of sad smile on his face, too, and Leonard waves him back into a seat before either of them can get too emotional. Chris seems to find that highly amusing, in his subtle way.

"So what can I do for you?" Leonard risks asking. The hope is back, and he can't entirely convince himself he needs to force it down.

"Jim has a new job. He starts next week. Phil and I are having a quiet dinner, just us, on Friday. Would you like to come?"

For a moment, Leonard just stares at him. It seems too good to be true. Too easy. Too much like cheating. "This is a terrible idea," he says, because it is. The last thing he wants is to make Jim feel unsafe in what is for him a place of sanctuary.

But he needs to talk to him. And Chris knows better than to take that first response as his answer. "Alright. Friday?"

"Six o'clock." Chris pauses, then adds. "I've missed you. We all have."

He leaves before Leonard can even think straight to formulate a response.

-

Leonard sits in his car outside the house for at least ten minutes before he gathers up the nerve to go in. He's not late, had actually arrived early because he couldn't simply sit around waiting anymore. He doesn't know what's worse, the prospect of Jim maybe leaving again without an explanation or being given a chance to screw up convincing him to stay. They're both horrible options.

He's brought the box of Jim's stuff. He wants to give it back, even if Jim never wants to see him again. He did copy the photos off the phone, though. The memories mean so much to him in their new light that he hopes he'll be able to look back and remember only the good things, one day.

Trembling, his skin tingling with nerves, feeling unsettled and terrified, Leonard walks to the front door. He knows better than to ring the bell, lets himself in as quietly as he can and heads towards where he can hear voices. The sound of Jim's, light and relaxed and amused like Leonard hasn't heard in so long, makes him pause for just a moment. He might not ever hear that again, and he never wants to forget it.

He doesn't understand how three years apart have left him more in love than ever. From the moment they met, Jim had been his light, his sun, the source of his life. It seems impossible to imagine living without him, even after Leonard has done it for so long. He fell so damn hard, but it had never been a constriction, their relationship. He had understood how Jim was, had allowed him the freedoms Leonard had known he'd needed. His past, his behaviour, none of that had mattered. Leonard loved -loves- Jim for everything he is and isn't, and he's going to apologise too, for not making that clearer, for not seeing how much Jim was struggling.

Jim dealt with it poorly, of course. Just running was a terrible choice. 

But for the first time, forgiving him seems within reach. 

-

Activity doesn't cease the moment Leonard walks into the kitchen, like he'd sort of expected.Chris and Jim are having a good-natured argument about whether the potatoes are done, and Phil watches them with a glass of wine in his hand and a contented expression on his face. He notices first, gives Leonard a warm smile but doesn't draw attention to him, just lets him drink in the perfectly domestic atmosphere for another few breaths. 

Chris spots him next, but Leonard's eyes are on Jim. He's missed him so fucking much, and all the anxiety and nerves have helped him to prepare himself for the flood of emotion that seeing him brings. He feels a little bad about catching Jim off-guard, but there's no other way. 

So Leonard makes himself watch as Jim turns, expression curious then disbelieving then so soft and broken Leonard has no idea how he could ever have doubted that this man loves him. He's made terrible, stupid decisions in the name of that love, but he's never, ever stopped. And neither has Leonard.

He takes a step into the room so he can set his box down on the counter, another so there's less of the kitchen island between them. Vaguely he is aware of Phil attempting to to retrieve the bottle of wine before he and Chris make themselves scarce. It makes Leonard smile, just a little.

"Bones?" Jim sounds utterly shattered, looks worse. There are so many questions contained within that single utterance that Leonard can't hope to keep track of them all.

Leonard had thought that hearing that nickname again would break him, too. But it brings so many memories to the forefront; the day they met, on that stupid flight; the way they had to dance around each other until they figured out that they both wanted to be more than just friends. The first time they had been in bed together and Jim had said that same nickname but made it sound like a prayer, a revelation. All the things Jim did instead of saying _I love you_ , never knowing that Leonard heard him every damn time.

And Leonard can't quite believe it himself but it's in Jim's eyes at that moment, too, the fear and the hope and regret all simmering there.

"Come here, damnit," Leonard says, and holds out his arms.

Jim hits him like a thunderclap, is pressed against him, wrapped around him, solid and warm and real and trembling. Leonard adores him, holds him close and strokes his hair, murmurs, "You did something so stupid I can't even comprehend, running away like that. But I did, too, letting you go. Missing the signs that you were struggling. So I'm sorry, too, Jim. So fucking sorry."

Every word makes Jim's breathing come faster, his arms squeeze tighter. Leonard lets him, keeps him wrapped up and close, has said what he needs but has to let Jim make the next choice for them. Leonard just savours how he feels, the familiar angles and the new ones, breathes in the smell of Jim's hair, tells himself they're going to be okay. He's not quite confident enough to say it out loud just yet.

But Jim starts to talk, like every word has to be ripped from him at first. Leonard doubts Jim has ever told anyone the extent of how he was feeling, mostly had it compounded by people who could have supported him. He had convinced himself he had no prospects, nothing to offer, was just a formerly delinquent high school dropout with no skills and a chequered past. Contrasted with Leonard's apparent success, he regularly had to fend off comments and criticism from those who didn't know him like Leonard did. And their relationship had been going so well, so effortlessly, that he'd been terrified of making everything difficult, or driving Leonard away.

Then he'd found out about David. Three months after he was born, and about a year after he'd started dating Leonard. He'd been planning to say something over dinner that night, even though he'd been terrified it would come between them, the reminder of his sexual history, of Leonard's own difficulties with parenthood. He'd hated the idea of Leonard feeling like he'd be saddled with a child he hadn't asked for, who wasn't his and yet made all the same demands of his time and energy. 

That stupid, dismissive answer that Leonard had given Chapel when she'd asked about marriage had been the final straw. So used to hearing Leonard dismiss the idea outright, Jim had thought he'd heard Leonard beginning to crave a greater commitment he'd been unwilling to tell Jim about.

"A relationship is one thing, but being married to me? You deserved so much better, Bones. I couldn't stand to be around while you figured that out," Jim finally trails off with those words, staring at the floor. They're still standing so close, Jim showing no inclination to move and Leonard unwilling to risk interrupting, so it's easy for Leonard to reach out and gently tip Jim's chin up, bring those eyes to meet his.

"You have always been exactly what I wanted. Nothing would ever have convinced me otherwise. And nothing ever will." 

Jim looks as though his world has fallen apart around him. "You still want me?" he breathes, so hopeful and amazed that Leonard has to fight not to kiss him.

"You tore my fucking heart out with that stunt you pulled, damnit. And you did it again every day you stayed away. I can't go through that again. I'd need you to talk to me-"

"I'm doing much better. I don't- sleep around. I got my GED. Went to college. I've got a pretty good job. Well, technically I start Monday-"

"This isn't a damn job interview, Jim. Obviously I'm proud of you, but please tell me you didn't do all of that to- impress anyone."

Jim does have a guilty look in his eyes, then, gives him a rueful smile. "Chris says- that I started the course for the wrong reasons. But I finished it for the right ones. I've found what I want to do. And it's not for anyone but me."

Leonard can't kiss him, but he can hug him, and he does, feels Jim wrap his arms around him in response and treasures every second of it, that feeling he thought he'd never have again. "I knew you were amazing, from the day we met. I'm so proud of you. What's the job?"

Newly assured though he claims to be, Jim still shifts a little nervously before he confesses, "I'll be teaching the second grade at Saint Martin's."

"The private school? Holy shit, Jim, that's amazing."

"Yeah. I'm- excited."

"Good," Leonard says, and means it. He squeezes Jim's forearms, doesn't seem to be able to keep his hands off him. He wants to tell Jim that he'll love him no matter what does for a living, but he's worried it'll derail what they're building.

It's Jim who manages to keep their conversation going, asks, "Are you still at the hospital?"

Leonard suppresses a wince. It sounds terrible, like the worst kind of one-upmanship to admit, "Yeah. I'm- head of psychiatry now, actually."

Astoundingly, it makes Jim laugh, quiet but genuine. "You hate psychiatric doctors. You always said you couldn't tell the difference between them and the patients."

"I still say that." Leonard shrugs. "All the voices in my head tell me it's fine."

"Mine just tell me to burn things."

"Probably don't mention that to the school board."

Jim laughs. It's so easy. Should it be easy, after all they've put each other through? Leonard isn't sure whether to feel relieved or like he's on the most nerve-wracking of first dates, one with his best friend and they're running through a minefield.

But before anything blows up in his face, Leonard has to say, "I brought you these."

He grabs the box, sets it on the counter in front of Jim, who eyes him curiously before he opens it. "Oh," is all he says, so thin and fragile that Leonard isn't even sure he hears it.

"I couldn't- I knew you'd want them. If you ever-" Leonard does his best not to mention that for the best part of three years those items just taunted him with that possibility that Jim might never come back, that he might never see him again. It brings the awkward first date feeling into perspective, remembering the chasm in his chest that had remained flayed open until so recently. 

Jim stares at the picture of his parents for so long, ignores the stray tears as they drip unhindered down his cheeks. "I don't deserve this," he chokes out, in the end, "I should have lost it all, for what I did to you."

"Oh, darlin', no." Leonard steps up to hold him, hadn't meant to bring the mood down quite so abruptly but knows it has to happen. At least Jim accepts the hug, cries against his chest and clings tight for just a little while. Leonard runs fingers through his hair, feels him sigh and relax in increments. "It was awful, but I do understand. You don't deserve to be punished for it as well."

It's not quite acceptance, but Jim releases him after a few moments to pick up his book of poetry and read through a few of his favourites with a sad smile on his face. "I always wished I could talk like this. That I could make you understand- I'm sorry I never told you."

"You did. Every day. I knew."

Jim stares at him for a long time after that. Leonard meets his eyes, just marveling at being able to do so.

Then Jim runs a finger over the handwritten message in the front of the manual, smiles softly at it, and tips the book on its side, holding it by the spine as he shakes it to make the flowers fall out. He examines them, with deft and gentle fingers. "I miss those window boxes," he confesses, then, "I missed you, too. Endlessly. Nothing felt right, for a long time. I told myself that it was best for you, that I needed to stay away. That maybe you'd thank me, once you moved on. I just- wanted you to be happy."

"Well, I'm not sure I'll never thank you for that. I do forgive you, though."

"I don't really feel like I deserve it." Jim toys with a vivid golden marigold, as flat and dry as paper, but he meets Leonard's eyes, so sad and sincere. That they can talk about it at all is a sign of how much he's grown. He's not running, now.

"Will you give me a chance to convince you?"

"I should be the one convincing you!"

"Not that you deserve forgiveness. That you'll stay." Leonard's voice cracks at the last word and he rolls his eyes at himself because he's supposed to be the stable one, damnit, the one who gets them through this conversation. He swallows down emotion, is too distracted by what threatens to overflow to immediately register Jim's telling silence. His heart sinks, and so does he, slumping into a seat across the corner of the kitchen island from Jim even as he tries to tell himself he's being ridiculous, expecting so much so soon. He's already waited three years. Everything has hurt so damn much for so damn long, and he just wants it to stop, but he's sprung this on Jim. He's had less than an hour to deal with it, when Leonard's had almost a week. There's still hope.

Jim picks up the phone next. He looks at Leonard curiously when he finds it's charged, but Leonard is too drained to give him more than a brief smile. He wishes it weren't so damn hard, that they could be how they were. Jim goes straight to the photos, to that damn highlight reel of their previous life, and begins to scroll through.

"You saw these?" he asks. Sometimes he pauses at specific photos, stares for a while like he remembers more than he sees. Once he suppresses a flinch.

"Only about a week ago."

"You didn't- when I left?"

Leonard shrugs. "Didn't feel right. Last week I needed to check something-" _Needed to check you were as hopelessly as love with me as I was with you,_ he stops himself from saying, and then remembers they're supposed to be being honest. "I thought- for three years I'd thought it was me. That I'd driven you away. Done something wrong and I'd just never know what it was. But last week- Chapel said something. And I had to know- how you felt. I'm sorry I invaded your privacy, I know you hate that, but I guess without it I wouldn't be here, so-"

Jim kisses him. It's perfect and too much and not enough and Leonard cannot live without this man, refuses to even make the attempt. So much still hurts, but he wants to try, needs to-

"We still need to talk about this," he says, even as he threads his fingers through Jim's hair, kisses him again and again because if he never has it after today, at least he will have this, this one terrible moment where it feels like the distance falls away and nothing else matters. 

He's missed Jim so much and they have always fit together so well, jagged edges just sliding into place alongside each other. They still do, after all these years and it's too easy to forget about all that's gone wrong, to focus only on the moment, on how he feels when he has Jim in his arms. It feels like holding starlight, impossible, like he'll burn himself if he touches for too long.

And Jim digs fingerprint bruises into his waist as he clings, dragging that moment out, making a noise of affirmation that's somewhat lost in the surprisingly gentle, reverent press of mouths. Considering Leonard feels like he wants to get so close he can climb inside Jim's skin, it's remarkably restrained. That's what he tells himself, anyway, because when the rush fades, when he's no longer holding on, it's going to hurt more than ever. He doesn't want to give this up, but he can't go through it without knowing if it will ever happen again.

So it's Leonard who pulls back, who has to watch Jim's eyes flutter open, dazed and dark. His lips are pinkened, his cheeks flushed. He's the most heartbreaking, beautiful thing Leonard has ever seen.

"I'm sorry," Jim says, and Leonard doesn't know if he means for the kiss, too soon and wildly inappropriate, deeply torturous, but- "I'm sorry for everything. I should have talked to you. I should have trusted you. I should have- got new friends. Probably a therapist. I should have- just done everything right, because that's what you deserve. You're the only thing that's ever been worth coming back to, and I couldn't even do that. I'm sorry I let you think you had done anything wrong for three years. I'm sorry, Bones, I'm sorry."

Jim is actually crying; Leonard's never seen him so emotional about anything before, knows that has to count for something, reaches out and pulls him in and holds him close because he can't possibly do anything else. The apology helps, gives him closure, but it's only addressing what's already happened, not what the hell either of them are supposed to do, going forwards.

There's a traitorous part of him that just wants to pick up where they left off, to forgive unquestioningly and hope for the best. But he knows, now, that while he had thought everything was going well, Jim was suffering. He won't force him back into that, lovingly or not.

"How about-" Leonard begins with a pang because he already knows how difficult this is going to be- "We try this as friends, first?"

He feels Jim flinch, then gradually relax, hates to think that anything he's said could be construed as a rejection, but he's simply not ready for anything more. He doesn't think Jim is, either.

And after a long, shuddering breath, he receives his response: "Alright. Friends."

-

Dinner is ruined, obviously, but Chris and Phil got the hint after maybe an hour and ordered pizza instead. They're smart people. And good, too. Leonard's really glad they're in Jim's life and, maybe, he dares to contemplate, in his, too. Rather pointedly, neither of them asks how their long discussion went, but they keep the conversation friendly and light. 

Mostly Leonard spends his time struggling to figure out exactly how close he's allowed to sit to Jim in their capacity as Just Friends, resisting the urge to touch him, trying not to stare too much. Because it would be unreasonable to expect him not to do it at all; Jim is glorious, and when he forgets about their history and just is, he smiles broader than Leonard has ever seen, gesticulates wildly, tells ridiculous tales of his time at college. He has adorable stories about David, too, and he's so unbelievably loving when he talks about him that Leonard can hardly believe this is the same man who had vowed never to subject any kids to his attempts at parenting. He's clearly fantastic at it.

So fantastic, in fact, that his passion for teaching is immediately apparent. Leonard hasn't seen that side of him before but can't understand how he'd possibly missed it. Of course he'd known Jim had energy, patience and astonishing capability, but when they'd been dating, he'd never settled on one idea long enough to become truly invested in it.

It makes Leonard a little self-conscious when it comes to discussing his own life. He feels like he's hardly done anything except work, but when he gets going it's easy to get carried away in those silly little stories he's picked up. It helps that Phil knows a little about the same people at the hospital, where they both spend a lot of their time.

He mentions Jo, too, a little cautiously, but Jim is as eager to hear about that as he is about everything else, if a little hesitant about his deeper questioning. It's a strange change to their dynamic, not necessarily a bad one, but it feels odd. Leonard is so used to having either Jim or Jo as a near-constant presence in his life. He's a little concerned he won't be able to balance them both.

Except Jim makes it all seem possible. Not-quite-casually, he suggests Leonard might want to come to the barbeque that Chris and Phil are having, two weeks from then.

"I have Jo that weekend," Leonard says, kind of expecting that to be taken as an excuse for his absence.

"Well, you could bring her." Jim shrugs, as though it's not a problem at all, and neither Phil nor Chris make a move to object. "She's a little older than some of the other kids, but she'd be welcome."

"I'll ask her. She can be a little shy."

"Your kid? Shy?"

Leonard grimaces. Apparently, Jim still knows him too well. "Less shy, more- willing to express open hatred towards everyone."

It gets a laugh, even though it has been decidedly not funny on a couple of occasions.

"That sounds more like it." Jim smiles at him then, and Leonard smiles back.

Phil rolls his eyes. "Alright, that's enough, kids. Say goodnight."

It's probably for the best. Leonard has Jo in the morning and he feels like he might never leave, otherwise.

A little awkwardly, Jim walks him to the door. Leonard wasn't quite sure, but he seems to be staying at the house. "I- uhh. Have David next weekend, so I won't be free but- we could go out one night this week?"

Leonard nods, even as his heart soars because he's not the only one going along with this ridiculous plan. And an evening out sounds reasonable. Less pressure than a weekend, further from a real date. "I'd like that. I want to hear about your first week at work."

"If it goes that badly I'm sure you'll see it on the news."

"You'll do great. Blow their minds."

Jim doesn't look too sure, although his lip twitches upwards at the encouragement. He's also standing between Leonard and the door, which is not at all what is supposed to happen. After a long moment, just as Leonard is on the verge of asking if he's alright, he holds out his hand. "I'll give you my number. We can text, maybe?"

He has to know Leonard couldn't have coped with just waiting for Jim to contact him. He's not entirely convinced he can handle waiting for a reply, but he hands his phone over all the same, raises his eyebrows when Jim pauses, then unlocks it with the same code he's always had. Jim types his number in without naming the contact, then hands the phone back. "Let me know you get home?"

Leonard is too stunned to do anything but agree. Jim gives him a cautious smile and if there's a second before he steps back where it seems like they're about to kiss, just out of habit or the magnetism between them, neither of them comment on it. Leonard absolutely cannot help himself, reaches out to squeeze Jim's shoulder before he leaves, just to reassure himself that he's real, that this is really happening.

Jim leans in the doorway to watch him walk down the drive, is so distracting that Leonard nearly jumps out of his skin when he slides into his car only to find his passenger seat already occupied.

"Jesus fuck, Chris!" Leonard hisses, only a great deal of practice swearing while Jo sleeps keeping his voice at a reasonable volume.

"How did it go?" Chris has the face of a vaguely amused angel. He's a huge asshole. 

Leonard's heart is still pounding when he confesses, "I'm just glad it went at all." And he needs a few deep breaths before he can add, "Thank you." Because of course he wouldn't even have had the courage to be there without Chris' intervention.

"Well, I'd hoped it would work out. The two of you just- I haven't seen him smile like that in years."

Something in Leonard's heart clenches. He had thought Jim was in high spirits despite him, not because of him. "He's not usually like that?"

"Not even with us."

It clearly means something, but it doesn't change the fact, "He won't tell me he'll stay."

Chris smiles ruefully, shrugs. "He's not the type to make promises lightly. Give him time. He'll get there."

What a terrifying prospect. Leonard snorts. "I'd give him anything," he admits, not entirely convinced he should, but Chris squeezes his shoulder and Leonard feels like, maybe, everything could work out.

"He'll get there."

Leonard sure hopes so.

-

He does text Jim when he gets home, after a brief panic about what the hell to say. How many exclamation points to add. Which level of smiley face appropriately conveys his emotions at that moment.

Jim solves that dilemma, apparently, by sending all of them in acknowledgement. After a brief pause, Leonard also receives a message saying, _"Thank you. For everything."_

Leonard sends back a selection of colourful flowers and wonders if it makes Jim cry, too.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> YES the chapter count has gone up. Two more to come before these two actually confront their feelings. Hope you like reading about awkward friend-dates!


	3. Chapter 3

Their first not-date is supremely awkward. Neither of them has any idea how to act at first, but they manage to get coffee and hold something resembling a conversation, albeit a stilted one. They don't know quite enough about each other’s lives for it to come easy any more, no matter how much insight they might have into the deepest, darkest depths of their respective psyches. Leonard knows that Jim has enormous insecurities about anything remotely related to his stepfather but couldn't have even guessed he'd taken up rock climbing. Similarly, he thinks Jim could rattle off his medical specialties but he laughs like it's the funniest thing he's ever heard when Leonard confesses he purposely served Jo too much of her favourite dinner the previous week so she wouldn't be able to tell he'd eaten more than half the apple pie he'd bought them for dessert.

With no real idea of what people actually do when they're just two guy friends doing stuff together, they go and see a terrible horror movie. They're both surprised to find how much they enjoy it, Leonard emphatically rolling his eyes at the various medial inconsistencies and Jim offering supposedly helpful advice to the poor group of twenty-somethings who are all graphically murdered.

Neither one of them has the greatest willpower, and there are several lingering looks, glancing touches when one or the other forgets that they're not supposed to be pushing boundaries. It probably isn't the best idea for them to be sat so close in a darkened room, leaning close by necessity of their conversation, Leonard concedes.

They go for a couple of drinks afterwards, both within walking distance of their respective homes. Strangely, it's Jim who's the least willing to let Leonard out of his sight, like he's worried about some sort of long-term revenge plan to suddenly abandon him. Leonard hopes the trust will come with time. He certainly has no plans to breach it. They drink beers, and Jim reluctantly talks about his first week at work. He's not supposed to have a favourite student, except he does. Some ridiculous creative of a child who always talks back to him. 

"She's so smart, and school is going to ruin her," Jim shakes his head as he sips his drink, toys with the label. "It's just not right for some kids, you know?"

"Well, hopefully you'll be able to keep an eye on her."

"They just get lost. The system swallows them up. And she's from a good family, you know. They'll be able to afford tutors and she'll probably go to Harvard and become a lawyer or something and ruin peoples' lives for a living."

"Jesus, Jim!" Leonard can't help but splutter a laugh, makes a wide-eyed appeal when Jim glares at him. "Maybe she'll be a doctor or an astronaut or win a fucking peace prize. Maybe she'll drop out of school and her parents'll never speak to her again and it'll be the best thing that ever happened to her. You can't-" Leonard shakes his head, scrubs at his face with a hand. It's a lesson he had to learn too, but it wasn't an easy one. "You can only do what you can do. There's so much you can't control. But you can be that teacher she remembers from when she was a kid who said she could do anything she wanted."

"We tell them all that. Pretty much have to."

"Doesn't make it any less true."

Jim still looks doubtful, but less pointedly so. "Do you ever worry about the future? What we're leaving? For young people?"

"Those young people are our kids, Jim. Of course I do. But you can't save the world. Just your little corner of it. You can protect them and keep them as safe as possible and you can prepare them for what's out there, but- one day they'll be alone. That's life."

"David wants to be an astronaut."

Leonard laughs. "Jo wants to be a professional YouTuber."

"Oh, God. What kind?"

"I have no idea. She likes those channels where girls wearing too much make-up buy bags full of things and then talk about them. Although I think at some point she did also want to be an astronaut."

"Do they have YouTube in space?"

"I'll ask Scotty."

Jim is way more obvious about when he's trying to avoid a topic than he used to be. He goes all silent and looks away. It's pretty cute.

"Are you being weird because you think I fucked him, or because you actually did?" Leonard asks, unable to suppress his smirk because he’s timed it so Jim chokes on his beer.

"Well, both, now. Wait, you didn't?"

Jim’s eyes are very big and very blue. Leonard narrows his. "What does it matter to you?"

"Just curious."

"I didn't. That's not to say I was celibate for three years, mind you."

"I fucked a lot of guys who looked like you."

"That's- disturbing."

"I didn't even realise until 'Karu pointed it out."

"Who?"

"'Karu. My first year at college, I stayed in halls. He was my roommate."

The thought makes Leonard shudder, although not for the reason anyone might think. "I remember halls from med school. Why would you do that to yourself?"

"It wasn't that bad. 'Karu was a pretty good roommate."

"Have you heard that phrase. About being _that friend_?"

Jim looks baffled. "What?"

Leonard signals the bartender for a couple more beers. It should probably be his last. It barely takes the edge off but as the night draws on, the darkness and warmth of the bar conspire to create an intimacy he's not entirely sure he can handle. "In a group of friends, there's always that friend, you know? The human tyre fire friend?"

"What?"

"Okay, bad example.  How about neighbours? There's always one who mows their lawn at midnight and parks across someone else's drive and, I don't know, has the wrong colour fence."

"Oh, yeah! Phil complains about one of their neighbours all the time."

"The point is, if you’re in a group and you think that you don’t have that neighbour, or that friend, or that roommate, then you are the neighbour. Or friend. Or roommate."

Leonard was right to order more drinks. Jim stares at him in slowly dawning horror. "Oh, God, I was. Fuck, how does he not hate me? I came home so late every night. And I never cleaned up. And I fucked a guy in his bed, once. Or- twice, if you count him."

"Do you have any friends you haven't fucked?"

Jim considers that. "Define friend."

Yeah, that's pretty much the answer Leonard expected. "You were also _that friend_."

"Yeah." Jim wrinkles his nose as he thinks. Leonard had forgotten he did that. "You're the only one I fucked more than once."

"Am I supposed to feel special?" Leonard asks, because he hates that he actually does. Jim offers him a little lop-sided smile, like he knows that.

"So," Leonard takes a deep breath, because he's determined to accept Jim as he is, and he does actually know him well enough to realise that casual sex really is just that, for him. "If I come to this barbeque next week. How many of the people there will you not have slept with?"

"Uhh. 'Karu's husband Ben. Their daughter Demora. Phil." He pauses for just long enough for Leonard to almost wonder, then cracks, grinning. "And Chris. God, can you imagine?"

Just to be a dick, Leonard appears to consider it, and to find the results moderately favourable. 

Jim throws peanuts at him.

-

Of course, the goodbye is the hardest part. They both know it's a terrible idea but neither of them is good enough to suggest otherwise when they walk back to Leonard's door together. And then they hover, not quite making eye contact or lingering within easy reach. Leonard aches to touch but knows that once he does he will be unwilling to stop.

"This was good," he says, because it was. He doesn't say that he wants to shove Jim up against the wall and lick into his mouth until he doesn't taste like himself any more. That would be too much.

Judging by the way Jim swallows thickly, he's thinking something similar. He's so much like the man Leonard fell in love with.

"We could- make it a thing. I don't do anything Thursdays," Jim suggests, almost casually. He's a little hoarse. Setting up a routine is a good idea, though. Leaves a little less room for doubt, and they could both benefit from that.

"Thursdays. Sounds good."

Jim looks up at him. He's not actually shorter than Leonard is, but he's ducking his head, has his hands in his pockets, his shoulders rounded. He's leaning against the wall. Like he doesn't really know what to do with himself. It's not something Leonard has ever seen before, and it helps to convince him that whatever this is they're doing, it matters. He reaches out, and Jim raises a brow at the gesture. He does take Leonard's hand, though, and shakes it, and they're both laughing at how ridiculous everything is, how utterly fucked they are.

Leonard would swear that Jim's body draws him in, like a magnet. They're much closer than they were, far closer than they need to be. Too close for friends. But then, they've never really just been friends. Jim's shoulders still shake a little with his laughter and when he looks up, then, he feels like he might be genuinely within reach. Leonard can see individual eyelashes, feel the warmth of him radiating. Neither one of them has let go of the other's hand.

It's so easy to imagine what would happen. If Leonard ducked his head, too, he'd be able to coax Jim into tilting his back with nothing but the press of his lips against Jim's. He could release Jim's hand and ease him back against the wall, cage him in and keep him there until the taste of his mouth was no longer enough. Every molecule of his body longs to enact that fantasy. They come closer to connecting with every second that passes.

Leonard sags and sighs, and Jim huffs a sad little laugh. Unable to resist entirely, Leonard does lean in to kiss Jim's cheek, sweet and lingering. He feels the quirk of Jim's answering smile, the tilt of his head that is Jim just brushing his lips against Leonard's skin. Their eyes meet for just a brief moment before Leonard has to retreat, to close the door between them and lean against it, thrilled and exhausted and terrified because he's just as in love as he's ever been, only now he knows exactly how much it can hurt. He's never had much sense when it comes to that sort of thing.

With a sigh, he sets about cleaning up his kitchen in preparation for Jo staying over the weekend.

-

For their next not-date, Jim drags him to the aquarium. Apparently, he has to supervise a field trip there at some point so he's scoping out the layout. Leonard thinks he just wants to peer at the sharks.

Although he does concede that he'll have to bring Jo back at some point. It would probably be a good sort of place for her to get to know Jim a little, with plenty of activity to act as a buffer.

Less helpfully, in the evening it's also a pretty good place to bring a date. Plenty of dark corners, pretty views to stare at together. Mostly Leonard tries not to get caught watching the reflections in Jim's eyes. Judging by the smug smiles he suspects are not directed at fish, he does not succeed. Miraculously, Jim affectionately bumps him with his hip but doesn't push it any further. He seems to be happy just to bask in the attention.

Jim is still a little hesitant, though, when he ventures, "I might bring David here sometime. Do you think he's too young?"

"Well- you run the risk of him giving up and screaming at any randomly selected point, but I think he'd like it. Kids just like to be places."

Jim seems satisfied by that, at least. Then he asks, "Did you speak to Jo about the barbecue?"

"Yeah, I did. She wants to come, on the condition they are serving tofu dogs. She is vegetarian this week."

"I think they will be."

"They will. I spoke to Phil about it earlier in the week."

"Oh yeah, I forget you guys work together." Jim goes a little sad then, tends to suddenly drift away in his thoughts, suspending his otherwise perpetual motion. Leonard suspects he knows why, in this case, doesn't particularly want to broach the subject of how close they could have been to contacting one another, if either of them had made the effort over the years. Instead, he wraps an arm around Jim's shoulders and presses his cheek against Jim's hair and watches the fish. They are lovely.

"Does she hate me?" Jim ventures, after a little while. He's twisted a little, so he fits better against Leonard's side but otherwise shows no intention of moving.

"Jo?"

"Yeah."

Leonard sighs. It's a pretty loaded question. "She doesn't hate you. She doesn't know you. She met you, what, once? I don't know if she suspects we dated. She knows I was sad for a while, but- well. She saw me after my dad passed so maybe she just thinks I do that."

"You didn't talk to her about it?"

"I didn't talk to anyone about it, Jim. What the hell was I supposed to say? That they'd finally proven themselves right and convinced you that I could do better? Everybody I knew thought they knew you better than I did. And then I made new friends, but there was no context. Anybody I'd told would have just asked why I thought you'd gone and I didn't have a damn clue. Shit, sorry." Leonard releases a suddenly-tense Jim, because he hadn't really raised his voice but it had certainly taken on a tone. It wasn't exactly sensitive of him. "You alright?"

"I deserve way more than you shouting at me, Bones, it's alright."

"That was not what I asked."

Jim looks caught out for a moment, defensive for another, then resigned. "I'm alright. I forget you know so much about me sometimes."

"If you're worried about blackmail, you know plenty about me, too." It's sort of a joke, but not really. It makes Jim smile anyway, and Leonard remember something he's been meaning to ask. "Why does Chapel think your birthday is in August?"

Jim shrugs. "I started telling people that. Convinced pretty much everybody except for you and Chris and Phil. Means I get a party when I might actually want one."

It’s so easy to forget, sometimes. Jim seems to be doing so well, so much of the time, that it isn't ever apparent what he's been through. Even Leonard loses track sometimes, certainly has done over the last few years, but it's actually one of the most miraculous things about Jim. He's been through so much, has so many excuses to be a terrible person but he genuinely wants to do good. He's never resorted to trying to bring people down to his level, had always been vivid and vibrant, a shining light in the darkness.

And he attracts more attention than even he realises, or maybe that day he's only got eyes for Leonard. People genuinely stare as he walks past, a couple try to catch his eye, but for all he flirts when he's free to do so, Jim makes no attempt to reciprocate. Unless they're fish. Leonard almost has to drag him away from prodding at sea stars, trying to touch rays.

It might have been a ploy. Jim presses closer than necessary in response, displaying friendly affection that's unusual for him when it can't be leading to anything more. And Leonard sighs, and lets him. He's not quite figured out where the line needs to be, yet, but Jim clearly has nobody in his life to talk to about his many and varied issues and Leonard doesn't initiate nearly as much physical contact with anyone else. He's missed it, missed how easy it always was for them just to spend time together. He's never clicked with another person in the same way, never been able to even tolerate existing in the same space with anyone for any length of time.

They go for dinner, too, just burgers in some diner Leonard's never visited before. Jim picks at his meal then eats far more ice cream than it should be possible for a single human being to consume. His eyes dare Leonard to say something about it.

Leonard vows not to, lasts about five minutes. "You know red sauce doesn't have any actual nutritional value, right?"

Jim licks a smudge of it from his lip entirely gratuitously. "It had a cherry on top, too."

"I know I'm going to regret this. You have been eating properly at least some of the time for the last three years, right?"

"Yeah, of course. Chris cooks."

"Well, thank God for Chris. And your year in halls?" 

Jim grimaces. "I came home for the holidays?"

Leonard puts his head in his hands. Jim snorts and eats some more ice cream. 

-

Jo is weirdly excited about the barbeque. Leonard sort of suspects she just wants to see him make a fool of himself but at least it gets her out of the house. And it's a nice day, too. Jo glares when Leonard suggests maybe wearing a nice summer dress, just pulls on thankfully clean jeans with a plaid shirt, jams her feet into her purple Doc Martens boots and dares him to suggest otherwise. Leonard doesn't. He bought her those boots and he's just glad she likes them. 

It's impossible to park outside Phil and Chris' house, although that's probably for the best. Leonard isn't quite sure he wants to endure comments about his car just yet. He likes it because it drives pretty damn fast for the size of it and it keeps Jo safe, but it didn't come cheap.

He's feeling a little overwhelmed, if he's honest, but Jo left half her breakfast and is determined to physically drag him in the direction of food if that's what it takes. It means he doesn't have too much time to think about all the people he won't know and, arguably worse, the people he will. People who also know Jim. Leonard wants to be a part of his life again but it's difficult to dive back in when he still doesn't exactly know who's to blame for Jim's lingering feelings of inferiority.

But Chris is a wonderful host and greets him with a hug, his effortless charm even coaxing a smile out of Jo, who deigns to put her phone away and address him directly. It's practically a miracle. Leonard is definitely suspicious.

Phil is running the grill and does indeed provide tofu dogs in exchange for Leonard's offering of homemade corn bread. They're not too objectionable, once doused in ketchup and mustard and onions, and it keeps Jo happy.

Ideally, Leonard would tell her to run along and make some friends. But he doesn't particularly want to do it himself, so he lets her stick close until he hears someone say his name.

"Leonard?"

"Nyota," Leonard turns to greet her, is sure he sounds as pleased yet surprised as she looks. She's as beautiful as ever, and even dressed casually in dark jeans she would be fiercely intimidating if it weren't for her lovely smile, "It's good to see you."

Nyota hugs him and kisses his cheek, examines his face as she holds him at arm’s length. "It's been so long."

"It certainly has. This is Jo, by the way, my daughter. Jo, this is Nyota. She's an old friend of mine."

"Nice to meet you," Jo all-but whispers. Leonard sets a hand on her shoulder and she leans in fractionally before shrugging him off.

"It's nice to meet you too. I love your boots."

Well, she certainly knows the way to his girl's heart. Jo's thrilled. "Thanks. They're vegan."

"It's wonderful to meet a young person who cares so much about the future of our planet."

Jo shrugs, toys a little with her sleeve. "It's our planet too."

"You're clearly a very smart young woman. My partner is actually a lecturer at the University and he knows a lot about environmental science. Would you like to meet him?"

Jo does at least glance at Leonard for something resembling permission before she nods. "Yes, please."

It's probably for the best that she doesn't see Leonard's face when he realises just who has been summoned by Nyota's bright smile and wave. Nyota does, though. She beams at him, fully aware he can't say too much with Jo standing there.

"I didn't realise you two were still dating," he says, vaguely casting his eyes around for something resembling a drink. He and Jo can get a cab home, if he picks the car up tomorrow. It's worth it if it means he doesn't have to be entirely sober for a conversation with- "Spock."

"Leonard."

Nyota rolls her eyes. Jo looks from one of them to the other and back again with a sort of stunned, gleeful expression.

"I'm getting a drink." Leonard looks to Jo before walking away, though. "You'll be alright? Come find me or Chris if you need to, alright?"

"Whatever, dad."

Nyota's reassuring smile has a little more sincerity to it. Leonard does keep an eye on them as he goes in search of something to dull the rising irritation. And maybe makes a brief stop over by Phil to get a real cheeseburger. With more will than confidence, he makes eyes contact with a man so ridiculously good-looking that he actually does a double take.

"Do- I know you?" the man asks, with a raised brow.

If Leonard were a much smoother, much more flirtatious man, he'd say that he'd like to. He is not either of those things. "No, sorry, I- never mind. Hi. I'm Leonard."

"I'm Hikaru."

"Of course you are."

"Excuse me?" 

Shit. This is not going well. "It's just that- Jim mentioned you. When I spoke to him last. Weird coincidence."

"Oh, you know Jim?"

Leonard has no idea how the hell to explain his relationship with Jim, suddenly. Probably should have thought about that. After a quick glance over to make sure Jo is still fine -she's doing way better than him, on all available levels- he makes the attempt. "We were friends, a long time ago. Just caught up recently."

Hikaru laughs. Leonard can't remember what Jim said he does for a living but if it's not modelling, somebody missed a big chance. "Yeah. I was ready to kill him after sharing a room for a year but- what's that thing people say? Can't live with him, can't live without him. Although- I don't ever remember him mentioning you."

Unable to decide whether it's worse to have that confirmed or to wonder what the heck Jim did say about him, Leonard risks it. "He decided I needed a nickname pretty early on. I'm not convinced he even remembers my real name."

"Bones!"

"Speak of the devil, and he shall appear." Leonard turns, although not so quickly that he misses the light come on behind Hikaru's eyes. Clearly he does know something. "Jim. It's good to see you."

It really is. Jim looks fantastic, was so presentable on Thursday when Leonard saw him last but has not bothered to shave since then, has artfully tousled his hair and is wearing a worn tee with sinfully tight grey jeans. Leonard is, for just a moment, perfectly aware why he hasn't been able to look at anybody else in the same way since he met Jim. Nobody could ever possibly measure up. 

Jim hugs Hikaru and makes brief but intimate eye contact with Leonard. Leonard arches a brow in return, conscious that they seem to have been interrupted at a rather opportune moment, but Jim has two ways of dealing with difficult situations and aggressively blazing through all obstacles is one of them.

"You guys having a good time?" 

"Yeah, it's pretty good." Hikaru smiles, too broadly, "Although I was actually just grabbing something for Ben, so I'll be right back."

"He is such a dick," Jim mutters, as Hikaru walks away, snagging two cans of soda from the drinks table as he goes.

"Did we not establish that he could very much say the same thing about you?"

"Whose side are you on, here?" but Jim is smiling, and he's gorgeous, and it's been so long since Leonard has felt like they could just have a normal conversation in the presence of other people. It's such a big part of their cautious venture into being friends again that he's just glad to be there, but part of him still longs to have more. He wants to be able to greet Jim with a kiss and have a clue how to explain their relationship and to be the one planning social events with him. Having them at their place or arriving together. Being together after it all ends and collapsing into each other's arms and vowing never to do it ever again.

"Well that depends what you've been saying about me," he says, instead of any of that. It is neither the time nor the place.

Jim laughs, a little. "What could I possibly have had to say about you that isn't good?" He's watching something on the other side of the lawn, and Leonard had thought it was Hikaru's strategic retreat, but when he turns he sees Jim staring over at Spock and Jo. They're involved in a more animated discussion than Leonard has seen either of them partake in before. 

"I didn't realise you were still friends with that guy," Leonard says, probably more uncharitably than he'd intended.

"I'd forgotten about how you two get. He's been really good, actually. Helped me out a lot with the teaching and educational politics, you know? He seems to be getting on with Jo."

"Yeah." Leonard sighs. He's going to have to invite Spock and Nyota over for dinner sometime, he just knows it. "I haven't seen her so happy to talk to anyone in years."

"That's good, right?"

Leonard doesn't want to say that he really wishes it could have been Jim standing there, explaining something with appropriate gesticulation, at whom Jo is beaming, her eyes lighting up. "She's not usually this enthusiastic. If I can tear her away- I'll make sure the two of you at least get to say hello, alright?"

"Sure." Jim bites his lip. He's uncharacteristically nervous. Leonard has no idea how to coax him out of it, isn't sure what he's allowed to do in front of all these people.

"No David this weekend?"

"Nah, he's at Carol's. I have him next weekend."

Shit. That reminds Leonard- "Oh. I meant to say. I've booked something for Thursday evening. It's a little way out of town. Would it be alright if I picked you up?"

"From school?" Jim bares his teeth. 

"It's going to be far too long before that joke gets old for you, isn't it?"

"Almost definitely."

"But yes, from school."

"You've got some ridiculous expensive Doctor car, haven't you?"

Leonard considers that for a moment. "It has been referred to as my mid-life-crisis car, if you'd consider that the same thing."

"I would not. But now I need you to pick me up in it. I want to see. Is it red? Is it a convertible?"

"It is neither of those things. But it does have a very nice leather interior. And excellent safety features."

"Most boring mid-life-crisis ever." Jim muses.

"Well I did think about getting my motorcycle licence, but I realised I wasn't a ridiculous, reckless man-child."

That makes Jim sigh wistfully, though, running a hand through his hair. "God, I miss my bike."

"You don't still have the bike?"

"I still have it. Haven't ridden it since I found out about David. It just- doesn't feel right. Like I should be trying harder to take care of myself, you know? He's relying on me."

Jim looks so genuinely sad that Leonard has reached out before he can think better of it, just squeezes Jim's shoulder.  It's the right thing to do, earns him a lop-sided quirk of Jim's lips in gratitude. It's about more than the bike, he knows, has everything to do with Jim growing up without his own father.

"He'd want you to be happy, too, you know," Leonard ventures, as well. He doesn't know enough about the whole situation to be able to offer any more than that -and doesn't that sting, to be so far removed- but it feels wrong not to at least try. Jim means the world to him, and Leonard wants to help. He hadn't meant it to be any more than a general reassurance that Jim shouldn't neglect himself, but it earns him a long, contemplative look that makes him feel like he's said more than he should. 

"I should- get out there. Say hi to everyone. But I'll talk to you later." Jim's tone is a little vague when he speaks, after a long pause, and Leonard can do nothing but nod and watch him go, convinced he's fucking everything up all over again. He considers having a beer, reaches for a soda instead, turns and nearly walks into Nyota.

"Jesus-" he says, abortively, because there are young children around and he's got to at least try to censor himself even if he's unable to fully hide his exasperation when he says, "What?"

"What really happened with you two?"

That's a strange way to phrase the question. Leonard replies with one of his own. "What do you think happened?"

"That you had some ridiculous argument over nothing and then both refused to talk about it for three years."

It's actually closer to the truth than Leonard had expected. "There was no argument."

"Then why? You two were- I thought you made each other happy." Nyota is kind, and understanding, and Leonard has never spoken to anybody about what happened. He doesn't know if it's fair to do so then, when Nyota knows both of them and risks being caught in the middle. But he's suddenly so tired of lying about it.

"I thought so too. He made me happy. But- Jim has a lot going on that he doesn't let on. Not even to me. I missed something. And I should have caught it, but- I didn't want to risk pushing him too hard. He'd just found out about David, and he overheard me say something, and he left. Without a word. I should have done something, should have followed him, but- I didn't know what to do. I didn't see him again, until three weeks ago when we ran into each other by accident. We've been- trying. Just to be friends. But I never know what he's thinking. It's driving me nuts. I'm not sure how much more I can take."

Nyota's eyes are wide. Clearly whatever she expected to hear, it wasn't that. Still, Leonard feels like a weight's been lifted off his shoulders, just from telling someone about it. It doesn't seem nearly so insurmountable. Probably something he should have known, considering what he does for a living, but he's never been particularly good at following his own advice.

"He left?" is what she latches onto first.

"Yeah. Said he was coming to bed, then didn't."

"And you let him? You didn't call him or come here or try and find him. For three years."

"I was trying to respect his decisions."

"You're both as bad as each other," Nyota breathes, mostly to herself, stunned and disbelieving. Leonard wishes he could argue with that assessment. He can't entirely understand his own actions either, with the benefit of hindsight. Not that what he's doing at that moment is any more explicable.

"You know he loves you," Nyota goes on, and Leonard nods, and she looks even more baffled, then. "And you love him. You're both miserable without each other."

"Well, it turns out he was miserable with me, too."

"He wasn't, Leonard. He's- an ass. But I have never seen him the way he was with you."

"Then why did he leave, Nyota? He decided it was over, not me. I would have-" Leonard chokes, doesn't quite dare say the words, isn't sure if he can stop himself from crying if he does. He's already said far more than he should. He's just glad nobody else seems to be paying them any attention. Somehow, he admits, knowing Nyota will hear what was unspoken. "I still would."

"He's just scared, Leo. It means that what you have matters to him."

"Well that's great, but that's when he runs. When something matters enough that it reminds him- how much he can possibly lose." Leonard doesn't know if Nyota knows anything about Jim's father, but it's certainly not his right to tell her, if she doesn't.

"Then I guess you have to prove that you're worth the risk." Nyota shrugs, does manage to find a little lightness when she looks him up and down briefly, then. "That outfit certainly helps."

"What? What's wrong with my outfit?"

It's not exactly a bold choice. Leonard pulled on jeans and a blue button down before he realised exactly how warm it was going to be, so he's rolled up his sleeves and undone a couple of buttons at his collar.

"You look like you came straight here after a modelling shoot."

"I do not."

"I only knew you were over here because I heard Hikaru and Ben gossiping about you."

"Saying what?" Leonard asks before he can stop himself, rolls his eyes at his own ridiculous behaviour before Nyota can respond. "Nevermind. Are you saying I should be seducing Jim? Because it sort of sounds like you are."

"Seduce is such a strong word. Just- show him who you really are. Gorgeous, successful, intelligent-"

"Nyota-"

"No, Leonard, that's enough. Tell him and show him what he means to you. And what you can do for him. He'll come around. Giving him space hasn't worked. For either of you. It's gone on for long enough."

It's a few long, deep breaths before Leonard feels like he can hug her. She wraps her arms around him, so tiny but so strong. So smart.

"I'm not sure I should be following your advice, considering your romantic choices," Leonard mutters in her ear, and she shoves at him. 

"Spock is a good man."

"Yeah, yeah. I have Jo every other weekend. Think the two of you would like to come for dinner sometime? She'd be thrilled to see you both."

"We would love to."

"Great." It's not quite possible for Leonard to sound too enthusiastic about that fact, but Nyota nudges him in the ribs and he manages a smile. It's good to know he still has friends within a part of his life he had thought would have forgotten all about him. 

And he's apparently making new ones, too. After he's had a brief interlude of supplying Jo with an appropriate amount of cake as opposed to the mountain she'd been collecting on her own, he turns at the sensation of something tugging on his pant leg. "Oh. Hello."

Jo turns, too, then, discards the cake in favour of bending to pick up the adorable child who has decided to go wandering. "Hey there, cutie. What's your name?"

Apparently Jo likes small children. Who would have thought? Leonard has no idea where she would even have come into contact with them. The child, an adorable dark-haired toddler with bunches, just babbles at her, too young to properly communicate. Jo coos, boops her nose, pulls funny faces until Leonard spots -to his brief surprise- Hikaru making a bee-line for them. The child does bear a resemblance.

"Sorry! You take your eyes off them for three seconds," Hikaru grimaces good-naturedly, as he goes to offer to take the child back, only to pause when he sees her in Jo's arms. "She seems to like you."

"She's cute. What's her name?"

"Demora."

"Oh, pretty. Pretty name for a pretty girl, right, Demora?" Jo pulls more faces. At least she doesn't sink into that horrible approximation of baby talk that Leonard hears so many older women use.

"They're much easier to deal with when you can bribe them with cake," Leonard mentions as an aside, sees Hikaru look at Jo in a new light suddenly.

"Oh. I didn't realise-"

"Yeah. This is Jo. Jo, this is Hikaru."

"It's nice to meet you." Jo smiles. She's so damn beautiful. Leonard is going to buy her a huge present later. He can't believe how well she's behaving. Probably better than he has done, so far. 

"Nice to meet you too, Jo. Sorry I sort of ran out on you earlier. It looked like you two needed a moment." Hikaru clearly means well, but Jo is studiously pretending not to listen, so Leonard is careful with what he says. 

"We probably need a lot of moments. I don't know exactly what you've heard-" Leonard pauses, raising a brow at Hikaru's guilty grimace. "But we're getting along alright. It just takes a little time."

"Jim's a great guy," Hikaru continues. "But yeah, he can be a little slow. He's worth it, though."

Leonard takes a deep breath, lets it out slowly. It seems like Hikaru is genuinely trying to help, even if he's saying entirely the wrong things. At least it's good to know Jim has friends who think he's good enough. "I'm aware. To be honest, I think he's the one you need to be telling."

"Oh, believe me, I've tried. I have never met a guy less willing to take a compliment."

"He hasn't changed, then."

"Have you known him for long?"

It's difficult to tell how much Hikaru knows about Leonard's relationship with Jim. Most people who weren't around to see it pretty much refuse to acknowledge that they were even dating, since it conflicts so much with their idea of how Jim is. "I met him maybe four years ago. We- lost touch after a year or so."

"Seems like you know him pretty well."

"I think so. Not that well, I guess, or we wouldn't have lost touch for so long." It feels strange to talk about it so casually, but Leonard is conscious of Jo pretending not to be taking in every word. He'll have to have a talk with her on the way home, not least because Jocelyn is unlikely to be happy to hear that Jim is back in his life. She'd never particularly approved of him, and while Leonard had dismissed it as her simply not wanting to see him with anyone else, he suspects now it was a little more personal than that.

"I don't know. He welcomed you back, didn't he? I get the impression that Jim's not really the type to admit he's made mistakes." Hikaru grins, then. "And you wouldn't have got past the gatekeepers if they had any doubts about you." He nods in the direction of the grill, where Chris and Phil are laughing together, Chris' arm snaked around Phil's waist. As they watch, Chris presses his forehead to Phil's temple, still with a residual smile on his face. Leonard really wishes it didn't make tears prick at his eyes to see them so happy. They seem so similar to he and Jim, from the perspective of an outsider, another doctor and a fool-hardly lunatic who adore one another, have built their life together.

"Dad?" Jo asks, a little cautiously.

Leonard blinks himself back into the real world. Hope she doesn't notice the wetness in his eyes, knows she does. "What's wrong, honey?"

"Who's Jim?"

Hikaru tenses. Leonard's not much better. "He's an old friend of mine. Hikaru's friend, too."

"I know that, dad. I was listening. But he's here, right? Which one is he?"

"He's, uhh-" casting his gaze around for lack of a better idea, Leonard avoids looking at Hikaru, lets him decide whether or not to be mad or to apologise on his own. "Oh, he's over there. With Scotty. You remember Scotty?"

"Can I meet him?"

"I hope so. He's going to come talk to us, actually, once he's done greeting everyone."

"I'm part of everyone. He never greeted me."

"Well, he's saving you for last, because he's excited to meet you and he doesn't want to be distracted."

Jo contemplates that. Leonard chances a glance at Hikaru, who looks like he's wishing he'd never started the conversation. Leonard can't help but think it kind of serves him right for interfering, no matter how well he had meant at the time, although Hikaru does mouth an apology at him which goes some way towards softening him up. He also reaches out to take Demora in his arms when Jo fidgets a little, uncomfortable.

"How about you finish your cake and then we'll see if Jim's ready to meet you?" Leonard suggests. It works. Jo returns to the plate she'd set aside, and although she still watches Jim from across the lawn, she doesn't move.

"I'm sorry, I didn't know," Hikaru says, after a moment. "I should have thought-"

"It's okay. I'm going to talk to Jo about it all on the way home." Leonard winks at Jo when she looks up at the sound of her name before returning her attention to her food. "I haven't talked about it in a long time. But hopefully we can- continue to be in each other's lives."

"I'm still sorry. For- all of it. I shouldn't have assumed."

Goddamnit, Leonard actually likes this guy. "Well, thanks. And- I'm glad he's had a friend like you for all this time. From what I've heard, the ones he had before weren't exactly doing a fantastic job."

"Yeah, I got that impression too. At first I sort of thought you were one of them, but- he talked about you differently. Like, separately. He made it sound like you were really trying and he just didn't think he deserved it. And then- I probably shouldn't be telling you this."

"Then don't."

Hikaru considers him for a moment, then sighs and shrugs. "I'll just say that he missed you. There was never any doubt of that. And, uhh- if it was you he talked to the other day before he called me out of the blue to apologise for being a terrible roommate, then thanks. He was a full-blown nightmare. I never doubted he was worth it, but I also could have done with a little more sleep that year."

"That was me, yes."

"Well, hopefully he's learned something for anyone he might- room with, in the future." 

Well, that wasn't at all subtle. Hikaru's crafty little sideways look is actually very reminiscent of Jim's, and Leonard can only imagine the trouble those two got into before Hikaru settled down. There's not a lot more he can say in front of Jo, though, so he lets it go. 

Jim does find them, an hour or so later, when people are beginning to drift away. Jo's on her phone, so she doesn't see what Leonard sees; Jim pauses a few feet away to take a deep breath and gather his confidence before approaching, game face on.

"Hey, Jim." Leonard hugs him, just briefly, feels Jim squeeze back and relax, just a little. "This is Jo. She's been looking forward to meeting you."

"I've been looking forward to meeting her, too. Hey, Jo."

"Hi, Jim. Is it true you were in prison one time?"

Leonard chokes on nothing. He has never said anything of the sort to her. "Where on earth did you hear that?"

"Mom said."

"Oh, boy," Leonard mutters, should probably have had a little conversation with Jo prior to this one. She's too clever for her own good and certainly not tactful enough to get away with it. Who only knows what the hell Jocelyn has been saying, given that she's never even met Jim.

"So were you?" Jo asks Jim again, who at least looks surprised but not overwhelmed.

"No, I wasn't. I got arrested a few times, when I was younger. But I never made it any further than a holding cell for a few hours at a time. And it's way scarier than it looks on TV. There's fighting between the other guys in there, and there was a woman who kept trying to touch me. I'd give it a one-star rating at most."

Reluctantly, Jo gives a little amused snort. "Did you ever kill anybody?"

"Jo!"

"It's okay, Bones. No, I didn't kill anyone. I hurt someone, once, because they were harassing someone who couldn't defend themselves. I was really lucky that there were people who were willing to say that I didn't do anything wrong, because I could have been in big trouble otherwise. I could never have got my job. Maybe something really bad would have happened to me in prison. I think about it a lot."

"That's so cool."

It's fairly apparent that the important life lessons to be learned from this particular experience have somewhat escaped Jo.

"How about you, Jo, committed any crimes you want to confess to?" Jim soldiers on, though, even kneels to ensure he's on the same level as Jo. 

It's a sign of how well Leonard knows him, he hopes, that he forgets how strong Jim can be around strangers. He's never had to put up those walls around Leonard, has always been softer, a little more vulnerable. Leonard simultaneously hopes that he's found someone else he can relax with, and that he still considers Leonard to be one of a select few.

"I got in trouble at school once because Billy Farber kicked a cat so I kicked him in the balls."

"Well, I hope next time you'll consider a non-violent option. Maybe telling a teacher or another grown-up you trust to do something about it."

"I don't know any of those."

"I think you'd be surprised. Teachers can be cooler than you think. I'm one, too."

"You're a teacher? But you're- so cool."

Jim preens. Leonard rolls his eyes. He really hopes this conversation is going to be productive.

"Well, I can't wear this stuff to work. And I have to shave and do my hair all nice. Because otherwise the parents will catch on that I'm cooler than they are, and they'll get jealous." Jim leans in to whisper in Jo's ear, loud enough for Leonard to hear, "I'm bringing the system down from the inside."

"Oh my God." Leonard scrubs a hand over his face. They're both as bad as each other. It's no wonder there's only been room for one or the other of them in his life so far; he's needed to build up to the emotional impact their combined mischief could have on his sanity. It's already hanging by a thread as it is. His consternation only seems to encourage them, though, and they grin at one another. Partners in crime.

"I hope we get to spend some more time together soon," Jim says to Jo, who nods, biting her lip.

"I just hope neither of you get arrested for whatever you have planned." Leonard is only half-joking when he adds, "I'm not paying bail for both of you. You'll have to rock, paper, scissors for it."

"Relax, Bones. I'm a grown-up. I can pay my own bail," is Jim's not at all reassuring response, as he straightens to clasp Leonard's shoulder. Leonard gives him a dark look that is soundly ignored.

"Why do you call him that?" Jo asks next.

"Oh, no." Leonard hates this story.

"Oh yes. I met your dad on a plane. Have you ever been on a plane with your dad?"

Jo shakes her head.

"There's a good reason for that," Leonard isn't sure who he's telling. Nobody's listening to him.

"Well, your dad is scared of flying."

"I'm not scared of flying-"

"Bones, I'm telling the story! Hush. It's rude to interrupt."

"I'll show you rude."

Jim only just manages to abort the finger he lifts in Leonard's direction, attempts to hide the movement by kneeling at Jo's level again. "Now, I think flying is awesome. It's the only time we ever get to travel so fast. It's exciting. Your dad does not share that opinion. He had to take a flight for his work and when I ended up in the seat next to him, he was panicking real bad. I tried to distract him, because I'm super nice like that."

That's one way of putting it. The way Leonard remembers that day, Jim had flirted relentlessly. Although it had worked, his attention as addictive and captivating as it had ever been. Despite himself, Leonard finds himself smiling just a little.

"It did not work. Your dad was complaining and talking about all the worst things that could happen to you on a plane. So when they went through all the safety announcements, he was already pretty worked up. And they say something like, if the plane crashes, you have to keep your seatbelt on, bend over and put your head between your legs. Now your dad is not a quiet man. So his response, and I will never forget this, it's still one of the best things he's ever said, was pretty much loud enough for the entire cabin to hear, 'You know they don't tell you that because it'll save you. It kills you quick and keeps you in your seat so when the rescue team find the plane in eight months time it's easier to catalogue the neat piles of bones.'"

"Oh my God, dad!" 

"I honestly thought we were going to get kicked off that flight. The Captain came through and told him to keep it down and everything. It was amazing."

Leonard knows, he does, that he should feel humiliated by that story. But he still can't suppress his smile, even as he shakes his head, because as much as he regrets his behaviour, he wouldn't have met Jim without it. Being a panicking, cantankerous ass had brought one of the best things he has ever had into his life. He'd do it all over again in an instant. Just hearing Jim retell it has reminded him how much he feels like he's been missing, those extremes of emotion he only ever seems to experience when they're together. He's missed that. And it's warming his heart to see how well Jim and Jo are getting along, even though the thought of their conspiring against him sends chills down his spine.

And Jim smiles at him, too, as though he might be feeling the same. Jo is still giggling, a hand over her mouth like she could possibly hide how hilarious she's finding the whole thing. Maybe she has learned some tact, after all.

"I was thinking of having Nyota and Spock over for dinner a couple of weeks from now. Would you like to come too?" Leonard risks asking, and although he feels a little bad that Jo's immediate enthusiasm for the idea reduces Jim's ability to decline, he doesn't regret making the overture. They've got to start somewhere.

"You should totally come, Jim!"

There's a little doubt in Jim's eyes, but he does agree. It'll be the first time he's actually been inside Leonard's apartment so it's probably best for the both of them to have a buffer that will discourage them from getting too intimate, too quickly. If Jo doesn't fit into that category, Spock certainly will. Leonard is not particularly looking forward to that evening, but he will stay strong for his daughter. It might really benefit her to have someone with whom she can discuss her interests. And even though Leonard's nerves will be shot, with so much time spent so close to Jim, he's really had it impressed on him by Chris, and Nyota, and Hikaru, that he has to keep pushing. He has to leave Jim entirely sure of where he stands, and he can only get that across if they spend more time together.

He only hopes that it doesn't drive them any further apart.


	4. Chapter 4

"How secure are you feeling in your income right now?" Leonard calls to ask, just before he's due to pick Jim up that Thursday evening.

 _"Oh my God, Bones, for the last time I will not call you daddy in public!"_ Jim is already laughing when he hangs up, clearly ready and prepared for his arrival. Leonard rolls his eyes. That man works at a school. He's entrusted with the future of young children. 

Fortunately his little display was not for the benefit of anybody he should have been teaching. Jim's outside the school gate, looking entirely too gorgeous in slacks and a shirt, his jacket draped over an arm. He's chatting to a young -not elementary school young, but still a little disconcertingly young- man, although both of them rather gratifyingly stop and stare when he pulls up in front of them.

"How much?" he asks Jim with a leer, because he can be an asshole too, and it makes him laugh.

Jim nudges the slightly perturbed young man, next. "Bones, this is Pavel, my TA. I think I would be dead without him. Seriously. The kids would have lynched me."

"You are doing great. Might even make it to the end of the semester." Pavel shrugs. He has an accent Leonard can't quite identify, and a natural confidence that belays his apparent age.

"You hear that? Resounding success."

Leonard arches a brow at Jim, then looks to Pavel. Suddenly he feels a lot more sorry for the poor kid. "Good to meet you. I'm Leonard. You need a ride anywhere?"

"No, thank you. I will let you get on and enjoy your date."

"Ha!" Jim's nudge is forceful enough to send Pavel staggering sideways, this time, earns him a vaguely indignant but largely unrepentant look. "Still struggling with that English language, huh, Pavel? It can be tough. You'll get the hang of it. I never said date."

The last past is addressed to Leonard, who looks from Jim's guilty eyes and flushed cheeks to Pavel's raised eyebrow and stony expression. "Get in the damn car, Jim," he says, then _"No,"_ when Jim opens his mouth to reply with ' _yes, daddy'_. Because he's an ass, and Leonard knows how his ridiculous mind words.

Jim does turn to Pavel to squeeze his shoulder, gives him a wink and a sincere, grateful smile. "Thanks for your help, today."

"You know they pay me, right? I am not here as a personal favour to you."

"Love you too, buddy."

Pavel rolls his eyes, nods to Leonard, then strolls away.

"Seems like a good kid."

"Don't call him that to his face. He's smarter than both of us put together. Plus he'll set your cell phone to display in Russian and then refuse to help you change it back until you fetch him coffee."

"That seems entirely unreasonable." Leonard pulls out into the street. "So what did you do to deserve it?"

"What makes you think I did?" Jim is already rifling through the glove box, finds and pops a couple of hard candies in his mouth. Starts pressing buttons. Leonard bats his hand away. He only figured out how to turn the traction control back on after a few somewhat terrifying days. He doesn't bother to respond to Jim's question. Doesn't need to. 

Jim pouts. Licks his lips. Candy cracks against his teeth. "I asked if he'd grab me a coffee while I handled the big stuff."

"There it is. Sounds like you got off lightly, if you ask me."

"You may remember that I didn't. But he really is fantastic. I don't know what I'd do without him. We did placements while I was at college but I swear there was nothing like this much paperwork. They keep that quiet."

"You're still enjoying it, though?"

"Yeah. The kids are great."

Sometimes, Leonard wonders how the others in Jim's life let him get away with this shit. "And the staff?"

Jim glares sullenly at him for a moment before responding. "It'll get better. Pavel said he had a hard time at the start, too."

"At the- how long has he been working there? How old is he?"

"He's seventeen. Some kind of genius. Graduated high school at fourteen. I can hardly keep up, sometimes. And he's been there maybe a year. Where are we going?"

"You'll see. You'll like it. You ever done that before? Met someone smarter than you?" Leonard means it genuinely; Jim has a frankly outrageous mind. He covers it up, but that's almost just more evidence of his ability. He's just three steps ahead of everyone at all times.

"I'm not that smart. Took me two tries to finish high school. I didn't exactly- well, okay, I did get out of there at fourteen but it was not because I'd graduated."

"You could have, though. If you'd had the right environment, the right teachers. Isn't that part of why it's what you trained to do?"

"Partly." Jim eats another candy, holds one more out for Leonard, who takes it from his fingers by clamping it between his teeth without even thinking about it. "Okay, mostly. But this isn't even Pavel's first language. I can't even imagine what a hard time he's had."

Leonard sort of wishes he didn't have to watch the road so he can properly stare in disbelief at the lunatic in his passenger seat. "Jim. I know you don't tell people about how you grew up, but you can't tell me you've forgotten, yourself. Give yourself some damn credit. You're amazing."

"Bones."

"No, damnit. You fucking struggled to make it through every day for years. And you learned how to take care of yourself, and you turned out the smartest, most understanding, sympathetic man I've ever met. Plenty of people have used far less as an excuse to do much worse. You're a fucking inspiration and I'll keep saying it until you believe me."

It keeps Jim silent for a little while. Hopefully something's sinking in, but Leonard has had enough of hiding how he feels. He loves this ridiculous man and if he can't express it in the way he wants to most, then he's going to vent however he can.

"How was your day?" Jim asks, in the end.

"Shitty. Just a couple of patients who have been enormously let down by the health service. Colleagues who have no idea what the hell they're doing. So much paperwork. Oh, and-" Leonard pauses, had meant to think about it a little more before he brought it up, but maybe it's best that he doesn't have the chance to talk himself out of it. "There's a hospital fundraiser next Thursday."

"We don't have to do anything if you're busy, Bones, it's alright." 

"I was actually going to ask if you'd come with me."

"You- you were?" Jim sounds stunned. It makes Leonard wonder anew just how badly he had treated him before, that he thinks he is so unworthy of being shown off in public.

"Well, yeah. I know we're not exactly- dating. But there isn't anybody else I'd consider. And it'll be incredibly boring, at least until everyone gets drunk, but- I can't imagine anyone making it fun like you will. I'd like to go with you. I understand if you don't want to come. I know you hate doctors." It's said with a self-deprecating smile but Leonard can't help the surge of hope that wells up inside him. If Jim is willing to sit through that terrible experience of an evening with him, they might just have a chance. 

"I'm not exactly the ideal person to take to this sort of thing. I'd end up convincing people to take their money back, somehow."

"Jim, you are the most ludicrously charming person I have ever met. And I'm not taking you as a salesperson. You don't have to do a thing except keep me somewhat safe from any wealthy donors who try to grab my ass. And be yourself."

"I don't want my ass grabbed either!"

"You've changed." Leonard feigns disappointment. Mostly feigns.

And after a moment of watching him, Jim lifts his chin. "Ask me."

"Jim. Will you please come to a terrible hospital fundraiser with me next Thursday?"

"Yes."

Leonard smiles at him, has reached across to lay a hand on Jim's knee before he can think better of it. And before he can remove it, Jim's hand covers his. They drive a few more miles that way, Leonard's heart racing all the while. Frankly, he's amazed that he doesn't have to pull over, drag Jim into his lap and kiss the confidence back into him.

Instead, he pulls into the lot at their destination, already missing the solid, warm feeling against his palm. 

"Where the hell are we?"

"Just another minute and you'll see."

"But I wanna know now!" The tone is affected but Leonard knows better than to doubt the sentiment. Jim is relentlessly impatient, and he's so glad to see that hasn't changed. He's missed the enthusiasm, missed being the one to put that light in Jim's eyes.

It probably makes him a bad friend, the way he wants to be the only one to do it, but he can't feel bad when they walk through the door and he witnesses the joy suffuse Jim's features.

"How did I not know this was here? This is the only place I am coming to drink from now on," Jim announces at that moment, and he's still repeating it as they leave, hours later.

Frankly, Leonard can't believe he found somewhere so perfect, had been idly searching online when he'd come across it and known he had to take Jim. How could he not take him to Bury the Hatchet, the axe-throwing bar just outside of the city? He'd only been worried that Jim would already have been, but apparently he's been a little busy for such ventures, too.

-

They're both flushed, from the warmth of the bar and the surprising exertion of throwing axes at targets when they make it out into the fresh air. Leonard's arms are aching and his face hurts from smiling, and although he hasn't had a single alcoholic drink, conscious he's driving, he feels like he might just be high off the experience. He hadn't thought he'd enjoy it nearly as much as he did.

Jim's had a great time, too. He's glowing with the elation, the residual adrenaline, had attempted far more difficult throws than Leonard and beaten his score soundly as a result, so his competitive urges have been fulfilled, but somehow he's still restless.

"That was amazing," he enthuses, swinging his arms wildly. His eyes are dark, his breathing coming quickly and Leonard is caught off guard, really he is, when they draw close to his car and Jim collides with him, shoving him back against it to kiss him. Leonard could blame his own pounding heart, the illusion of intimacy created by the darkness and the relative distance between them and any other patrons. Jim's had one beer, but all it means is that he tastes of it when he laps at Leonard's bottom lip, seeking more. His hands have found Leonard's jaw, are cradling his face, thumbs tracing the bones, stroking his skin.

For how spontaneous the act is, Jim is surprisingly gentle. The thigh he has pressed between Leonard's is firm, but not insistent, and he's left space for Leonard to push him away or to object. Leonard should do both of those things, but he loves this man, damnit, and he can't be strong all the time, can't fight what they both want. When his fingers slid into soft hair, Jim keens, loses some of the tension he'd been carrying, coaxes Leonard's mouth open with his own and fits into every gap Leonard has left.

He's so beautiful, so perfect that for all Leonard knows it shouldn't be happening, that they should be waiting, not confusing themselves with the physical when they can barely deal with the emotional yet, he can do nothing to stop it. He can't convince himself to see the harm, to deny that they have always had strong feelings for one another. How can it possibly be a bad thing to remind themselves of that? To let all the swirling emotions and repressed denial coalesce at that point of connection.

Jim's lips are warm and soft, and kissing him feels like coming home. It's an illusion, but one that Leonard is willing to revel in, for just a moment more.

"I really thought you were going to punch me." Jim tells him, a little breathlessly, when he's pulled back, when he's the one to put the space between them with guilty eyes and a twist to his lips.

"And you did it anyway?"

Jim laughs a little sheepishly, looks at him from beneath lowered lashes. "I sort of thought it'd be worth it."

"I'd never hit you, Jim. No matter what you did. 

For a moment, he sees Jim contemplate testing that. Leonard can almost read the thoughts forming in his brain, the variety of ridiculous and terrible things he could try in attempts to push Leonard to the edge.

"No matter what," he repeats, just touching Jim's chin to encourage eye contact when he would otherwise have looked anywhere else. "I'll tell you what an ass you're being and I'll call you what I feel you deserve to be called. I'll even hold you back if you're looking at wading into something that's too big for you. And- aside from the fact you'd kick my ass in any kind of fair fight, if it came down to it-" that gets him the first hint of a smile, and he's unable to resist just brushing his thumb along that upturned lower lip. "I'd never hurt you like that."

Jim considers that a moment. He doesn't nod, but he does dart closer just for a final brief brush of a kiss before he retreats around to his side of the car with a smirk on his face.

Leonard rolls his eyes. Jim smiles at him over the roof of the car before he slides into his seat and goes right back to playing with the radio. It feels like progress. Leonard is mildly concerned than his standards might be skewed, but his lips still tingle pleasantly, the memory of Jim's touch lingering, the impression of that warm body in his arms.

They're nearly at Chris and Phil's when Jim ventures, more cautiously than Leonard had expected, "I can't promise I'll stay. Nobody can."

It's jarring, in both its honesty and the fact that Jim acknowledged it at all. It's still something Leonard feels like he needs to hear, needs to know, because he's not sure he can find any sort of footing without it.

"I just need to know that you'd try."

Jim is silent, then. When Leonard pulls up outside the house, Jim makes the effort to lean bodily across the centre console and kiss Leonard on the cheek. "See you Thursday."

"Jim," Leonard says, after he's already slammed the car door behind him. He feels terrible, but he'll feel worse if he just gives up, gives in to Jim's way of doing things. He leans his forehead on the steering wheel for a moment, but doesn't dare linger. Chris will materialise from somewhere if he does and Leonard is not in the mood for relentless optimism.

"Goddamnit," Scotty says, when Leonard turns up at his door. "You couldn't have made it another week? I just lost the pool."

"Who had the first two weeks?"

"Chapel. Jim's TA had this week."

Leonard rolls his eyes. He's going to have words with that woman. Probably after he gets to see her face when she finds out he's going to that fundraiser with Jim. "How's your love life?"

"Consistently terrible. Not worth discussing."

"We'll see about that." Leonard can't drink too much, not with work in the morning, but he's brought a bottle of bourbon anyway, and he's more than happy to share.

"Do you think I'm wasting my time?" he asks, after the first glass.

"It's been three weeks. You've been on three not-dates-"

"Four."

"Shut up, Len. Three weeks. You can't erase three years just like that. It's going to take time. Wouldn't you be suspicious if it didn't?"

That, Leonard begrudgingly accepts. "I guess it would be wrong to casually fuck him in the meantime."

Scotty actually chokes on his drink, needs a few minutes before he can contain his laughter. "Nothing you ever do with Jim will be casual. You'd have told him you loved him before you even got your pants off."

"You think we'll figure it out anytime soon?"

"I think if you spent as much time talking to each other as you do complaining to me, you'd get there a lot faster."

It takes Leonard a moment to realise what's wrong with that sentiment. He really hasn't spent that much time complaining. "Have you been talking to Jim?"

"Yes! And I have no idea why. At what point have either of you decided I am the sympathetic listener in either of your lives? Honestly. It's disgraceful."

"Don't tell me what he said-"

"Obviously."

"Scotty. Should I keep trying?"

"Why did you pick Thursdays, I cannot get drunk enough for this. If you want, yes. Are you going to pine unbearably for the rest of your life if you don't? How much choice do you really have?"

Leonard sighs. He is a little fed up with feeling sorry for himself, and he doesn't want to languish in it, no matter how tempting that might be. "Are you coming next week?" he asks instead, referring to the formerly quiet dinner party that has somehow been getting bigger every time he mentions it. He's gained an extra guest earlier that evening, even.

"Yeah, of course. What’s your guest list now?"

"You, Jo, Jim, Nyota and Spock. Pavel- Jim's TA." Leonard explains, when Scotty raises his eyebrows. "Apparently he doesn't know many people. He seems like a decent- guy."

He's been trying to train himself out of calling him a kid before the event itself and having moderate success.

"No Chapel?"

Leonard sighs. "Not yet. Going to see how she reacts Thursday when I take Jim to this hospital fundraiser." Because whether they had left things on a low note or not, Jim had still committed to Thursday. It's tempting not to believe him, Leonard's whole being just begging him to defend himself against what feels like inevitable rejection. He doesn't.

"Oh, God. Although I'm sure he'll look better on your arm than I did."

"Scotty. It was a terrible evening and if anybody had even been able to begin to comprehend what the hell you were working on, they would have been duly impressed. You got free food and I still get asked about my rocket scientist boyfriend by Phil's assistant."

"Wow. What do you tell them?"

"That you're on a top-secret mission and I can't talk about it."

"And also- that I'm not your boyfriend?"

"I gave up on that after maybe a month. He wasn't listening and I think he thinks it's homophobic not to ask?"

"You could do worse."

Leonard laughs at Scotty's exaggerated wink. "I have a bet on with Phil about how many people will refer to Jim as my boytoy."

"Does anyone still say that? He's not even that much younger than you!"

"He's pretty, though. And people think I'm much older than I am, since I made department head."

"I'm telling him you called him pretty." Scotty already has his phone in his hand and he's tapping away at the screen.

"He must know he is."

"But he hasn't heard it from you."

"Technically he still hasn't."

But it's Leonard's phone that chimes with a reply and he picks it up to see, "I think you're pretty cute too," and the series of flower emojis that has become their sort of signature sign-off. 

It makes him smile dumbly to himself and Scotty roll his eyes with a sigh. "Like being in fucking high school again. Only I am slightly more drunk."

-

"Oh, fuck," Leonard mutters to himself, because if there is anything he's not sufficiently prepared himself for, it is Jim in eveningwear. He looks phenomenal, slides into the passenger seat alongside Leonard with a charming, sultry smile and impossible grace.

"You look good," Jim says, though, and Leonard remembers that he's dressed similarly only when he looks down at his own suit.

"You clean up pretty good yourself. I'm sorry your audience won't be- less unbearable."

Jim shrugs, and fabric shifts around him like a second skin. It's a really, really good suit. "I don't dress up like this a lot. It's nice to have a reason. Whatever it is."

"That's probably for the good of the population. Do you find people walk into things a lot around you?"

"I literally caused a traffic accident once."

"What?" Leonard laughs, although he's not even slightly surprised. "What happened?"

"It was hot! I was taking my sweater off and it sort of- took my shirt along with it, for a little bit. I'd been- working out, a little. Elderly lady went straight through a red light and into another car. She was okay. Mostly embarrassed."

"Jesus."

"So keep your eyes on the road, mister."

Leonard glares at him, although not for as long as he'd like. He does actually have to watch the road, after all, if they're going to make it to the hospital in one piece.

Either way, he guesses they'll make it to the hospital, but it would be a shame to ruin such nice suits.

Jim laughs when he says as much, and if he's a little stiff rather than relaxing into the seat, well, Leonard hopes it's the clothing rather than the company that's making him uncomfortable.  

"So I don't actually need to do anything?" Jim confirmed, as they leave the car and approach the building. He puts his hands in his pockets then takes them out again, frowning, so Leonard pulls him aside, inappropriately glad that Jim still has enough presence of mind to give him a suggestive wink in response.

"We don't have to do this if you don't want to."

"I want to. I just- don't know what to expect."

"Assholes. It is a room full of assholes. Plus Phil. Phil will also be there. We will mingle, and Phil's assistant will maybe finally accept that I am not dating Scotty. We will have dinner, and you do not need to pay attention to the speeches because they will just be thanking people you have never met and never will, but if you're bored then try and count the number of times the Dean says the words literally, absolutely and obviously. Because there is a betting pool. And then dessert. And then drinks, if you want. We can reasonably leave then, too, if you don't feel like staying. Although the night invariably ends with one of the department heads drinking too much and dancing on a table. So you don't want to miss that."

“Is it a free bar?”

“Yes.”

“Then why the fuck are we still standing out here?” Jim’s hand wraps around Leonard’s wrist, preparing to drag him inside but Leonard does hold his ground briefly until Jim turns to face him.

“Don’t you mix your damn spirits. You vomit on one of the damn donors and I will have your hide.”

He probably should have seen it coming; Jim orders nothing but pornstar martinis for the rest of the night and charms a couple of the older female donors into trying them too, until the poor young woman behind the bar has to call up her boss and order more passionfruit. Leonard tries to keep an eye on Jim -although he’s not entirely sure whose benefit it's for, any more- but he attracts a fair share of attention himself and unwillingly loses track.

Fortunately, Jim finds him, and he brings bourbon, casually inserting himself into the conversation Leonard is having with two of their more generous donors. He slips the glass into Leonard’s hand with a warm brush of fingers and Leonard is unable to resist smiling at him, soft and genuine. That Jim can survive, let alone thrive, in such an environment, is a credit to him. It’s a nest of vipers, Leonard’s current companions among the worst of them.

And yet Jim makes conversation with ease, despite their initial reluctance. They respond enough to be civil, and Leonard is too busy trying to run effective interference that he fails to notice that the conversation is being steered.

“What is it you do, Mr Kirk?”

“I’m a teacher. Elementary school.”

“Well, I imagine the children keep you on your toes.”

“Oh, they do. They’re great, though. So smart. I’m sure when I was that age I was still eating crayons.”

The couple laugh and exchange a conspiratorial look. Jim catches Leonard’s eye and winks at him, tangles their fingers to distract him when he might have otherwise objected. Donors or not, they’re being incredibly rude.

“Our grandson will be applying to Saint Martin’s, shortly.”

“It’s a great school. I’ll be sure to keep an eye out for him.” Jim smiles, all teeth, his victory smile, when he’s blinked at in surprise. “You’ll have to let me know how he gets on, maybe I could put a good word in with the board for you.”

He’s joking, of course, but they’re too stunned to pick up on it. Jim has blazed right through their assumptions and expectations.

Leonard squeezes his hand, gives him a look that he hopes conveys his adoration, his pride, his helpless affection for that petty act of vengeance. Jim’s been primed, Leonard realises too late, by Phil, has been playing the game and winning, all night. 

Dinner goes similarly, Jim charming everyone at their table. Leonard barely listens, too caught up in the brightness of his eyes, the warmth of his hand and the slight flush that crosses his cheeks whenever he sees Leonard looking. He’s stunning.

Leonard maybe drinks a touch too much, restless with the suppressed desire to touch what isn’t his, to take what he can’t have, to just lean over and murmur in Jim’s ear the suggestion that they get out of there. A strongly worded suggestion.

Jim, though, wonderful, sweet thing that he is, stays at his side from that moment onward, controls the conversation, guides him away from anything that might involve too much participation on Leonard’s part. And he does it without a single person noticing anything is amiss.

He doesn’t even get distracted by the dessert buffet, although he does fix them each a plate and eat every single item on both of them, aside from a single chocolate he presses to Leonard's lips when one of the more racist donors attempts to approach to make conversation. The inappropriate behaviour wards him off, and Leonard gets to lick chocolate from Jim's fingers, so everybody wins.

It's hard not to get high on the attention, to revel in the hyper-vigilance of Jim's focus. He is everything Leonard has always wanted, and he's caught up in it enough that he doesn't get them home quite when he should. Its getting late. He's far too drunk. Jim seems to find that endlessly amusing and they just sit, talking about nothing, or everything, until they are two of the collection of drunk stragglers left.

"Thank you for coming with me," Leonard says, declining his third last drink. He can almost feel Phil hovering, wanting to offer them a ride home, but he wants to say this, first, "You made this fun. I didn't think that was possible." He raises a hand when Jim opens his mouth to interrupt, isn't quite finished. "I know you worked really hard, too. So thank you."

"You're drunk."

"Then I'll tell you again when I'm sober."

"It's not a big deal, Bones."

Leonard just stares at him hopelessly for a moment. He cannot convince his brain to find the words he needs, important though they are, imperative though it is for him to convince Jim that he sees what effort he goes to, that he knows he makes it look effortless but it's so much more than that. As little as he wants to wait to make a better attempt, he knows he must. Jim toys with the rim of his martini glass, long-empty, won't make eye contact.

"It's a big deal to me." Leonard settles for saying in the end, and it earns him an unreadable look until Leonard can no longer stand the silence, makes the necessary eye contact with Phil that will begin the process of getting them all home.

Jim kisses his cheek when they say goodnight, so gentle he makes Leonard feel at once precious and fragile, his heart made of spun glass and so, so ready to shatter.

He's being dramatic, he knows. He sends Jim a message just containing a mess of emojis once he's through his front door, hoping it will encompass every single confused and confusing aspect of how he feels.

Jim sends back, "Thank you. I had fun," and just a few emojis.

Leonard throws his phone onto the bedside table and falls asleep. He's too tired to contemplate what it might mean.

-

So obviously, his alarm doesn't go off in the morning. He spends the day catching up from there, arriving at work too late to properly plan for any of his appointments. He noticed a couple of the staff giving him sideways glances but doesn't have time to challenge any of them or even think about it too much, with three new patients admitted on top of his existing ones and budgets due in a couple of days.

His head pounds; he's had to content himself with terrible hospital coffee and a granola bar he had in his desk for breakfast, and it's almost lunch but he's got patient charts to file. He knows Phil won't let him get away with slacking just because he's hungover, and he doesn't expect him to. That's the problem with getting drunk at hospital functions. One of the many problems.

He doesn't doubt the rumour mill is running at warp speed. He's been described as eligible more than once by people who don't know him well enough to realise that's the last thing he is, and around here, taking a date to a work function is tantamount of announcing intention to marry. If he'd been out in the hospital at large for any longer than was absolutely necessary, he doesn't doubt he would have been quizzed relentlessly. 

It depresses him that he has no idea what he'll tell people when they inevitably ask. What is Jim, so him? A disastrous ex? A promising partner? Someone Leonard desperately loves but isn't sure he's willing to commit to yet?

Or is he just a dream that might never come true?

Well, yes. He's all of those things and more. Leonard shakes his head at his own ridiculous behaviour. Scotty had compared his antics to being in high school, and sometimes Leonard feels like that, like he should regress to passing notes and asking Scotty to ask Pavel to ask Jim if he really likes him. 

He's finished all of his charts, is debating whether his remaining paperwork can be put off so he can snatch five minutes to at least get some hot food from the cafeteria before there's a knock at his office door. He puts his head in his hands for just a moment. He's so goddamn hungry. "Come in!"

He picks up a pen just so he looks busy, so he has a chance of being able to dismiss whoever it is if they come with something non-urgent, and then almost drops it in his shock. Somehow, his mouth runs before his brain. "Good Lord, who let you past security?"

"Oh, I just told them I had something that would stop their head of psychiatry from going on a rampage. They didn't even check ID." Jim smiles at him. Jim is carrying coffee and -oh, Lord- Jim has brought him lunch. Leonard thinks he might cry.

"No school today?"

Jim shrugs, kicks the door shut behind him and Leonard automatically stands to help him arrange the coffees and paper bags he is carrying as he sits, and then abruptly realises he has nowhere to put them among the papers scattered in organised chaos on his desk. Some he needs, but others he just piles up and sets aside to figure out later.

"I get a longer lunch break on Fridays. The kids have music in the afternoon so Pavel can take them. And I just thought-" Jim gestures to the food, the smell of which is already making Leonard's mouth water, instead of continuing.

"That you'd save the lives of those who might otherwise suffer my hunger-driven wrath?"

Jim's smile softens as he hands one bag over, detaches a coffee from the carrier. He's gone to that same shop Leonard saw him in, that one time. It must have been a Friday. Leonard wonders what the a barista thought, when Jim changed his pattern.

"I thought you'd have flung your phone across the room instead of putting it on charge, been late for work, skipped breakfast, lamented terrible hospital coffee and eventually talked yourself out of any real food until you left for the day."

Wow. Leonard needs to change his routine. "Thank you," he says, deeply and sincerely, which makes Jim flush and shove food in his mouth. "Oh my God," he says, more emphatically, when he unwraps a grilled cheese Reuben. "You are a lifesaver."

Leonard eats, and Jim sips his coffee, and picks at his food.

“I have an appointment at one-thirty so you’re gonna have to start talking soon,” Leonard tells him, watched the cornered animal look form, then fade. Leonard arches a brow in response.

“I hate my job,” Jim confesses just as Leonard takes a bit of his sandwich, preventing him from responding right away. What the hell is he supposed to say to that, anyway? Leonard stays silent, even after he’s finished chewing, just waiting, and Jim sighs as though he hasn’t been the one to instigate the whole thing. “I hate it. The other teachers are assholes, the kids all already have every opportunity they could wish for. I’ve got a parent teacher conference in a few weeks and I’m already dreading it.

“I wanted to help kids. To make a difference. Not- to have to try and convince them that their parents won’t always be around to pay for everything. To have them asking whether everything I say will be on the test, like that’s all that matters.

“And it’s good, you know? Like last night. It changes how people react to me. They’re impressed before I’ve even said anything. I get good benefits. And Pavel is- just so great. He puts me to shame. He works so hard. Stays so positive. But I see him, too, being ignored by the other staff. Having his input dismissed, even though he’s smarter than all of them.

“I just hate it.”

Leonard has stopped eating. He’s never heard Jim sound so negative about anything, ever, and if he’s honest, he’s deeply disconcerted. What a mess. “You think it’ll get any better?”

“I don’t see how it can.”

“Jesus fuck, Jim.”

“Yeah.” Jim puts his head in his hands. It’s awful, too, to see him so despondent. It’s not like him at all. Leonard doesn’t want to think about how long he’s been thinking about it, how long it’s been wearing him down, how little he’s felt able to talk about it.

“Is it just that place? Or teaching in general?”

“The place. I love teaching. I want to-“ Jim stops, considering Leonard, seems to draw on confidence from somewhere within himself after a brief pause. He sits up taller, chin raised, as though he’s expecting an argument. “There’s a job going at Southside Academy, and I want to go for it."

Leonard's blood runs cold. He knows that school. Everyone in the damn hospital knows that school. It's on a rough side of town and the kids, parents and staff alike have a reputation for being practically feral. "Jim, someone got stabbed there last week."

"Not properly. And not by a second grader." Jim waves away his concern, but his jaw is set, like he's preparing to be talked out of it. 

Mostly Leonard just wants to argue with him about what denotes a so-called proper stabbing, but- Jim brought him lunch. He's sought him out, even after all that's happened between them, even during whatever is still happening. Leonard can't turn him away, not when he clearly doesn't have anyone else. "You should go for it."

"I- should?"

"If anyone stands a chance at getting through to those kids, it's you." Leonard sighs. He knows that this is important, that it means so much to Jim and his happiness, even if every one of his own instincts screams at him to stop it. "And I'm not going to pretend it doesn't fill me with dread to think of you in that place, every day. Just- for God's sake, be careful."

"You wouldn't- mind?"

"That you're risking your life every day? Hell yes, I would. But it's not up to me, is it?"

"I wouldn't- I wouldn't impress people any more. It's- it's why I can't talk to Chris, he's so proud that he can say I teach at that school. I don't want to disappoint him. Not- again."

"Jim, you have never disappointed that man with anything you have ever done."

That gets a sad little laugh. "You didn't see him, Bones. After I-" Jim has to pause before he can say, "After I left you. We were living in the same house but he could barely speak to me."

Leonard sets his coffee down, rounds the table so he can sit in his second visitors chair, pull it over until he can lean forward and take Jim's hands. "I can't speak for Chris. But I think he was concerned, then, that you were making a choice that would leave you unhappy. And he was worried, not disappointed. This is not the same thing."

Jim still looks doubtful. Leonard is astounded that they're even having this conversation, is determined not to waste it, releases one hand to reach out and cradle Jim's cheek. "And surviving a semester at Southside is way more impressive than getting a job at some fancy private school."

That makes Jim smile a little, and he presses into the touch to his face. Up close, he's not looking perfect either, a little unshaven, bags under his eyes, bottom lip bitten raw. He's still the most gorgeous thing Leonard's ever seen.

For once, he doesn't feel that swirling tension between them, that unfulfilled promise of something more. He's satisfied with the moment as it is, with having reassured Jim when he needed it the most. With being trusted to do so in the first place.

His phone buzzes before he can think too much about it. _"Doctor, your one-thirty is here."_

Leonard reaches for the intercom button on his phone with one hand, still holds Jim's in his other. "Two minutes, Jess."

"Yes, Doctor."

"I gotta go. Thank you for lunch." With a last brush of his thumb across a defined cheekbone, Leonard reluctantly sits back. Jim's eyes have dimmed, just a little, too, but overall he looks better. Lighter. Like there's a weight off his shoulders.

While Leonard stands, grabs a last mouthful of his sandwich, thoroughly neglected, Jim reaches for the tie he'd removed, left draped over the back of his chair. He rounds the desk, loops it over Leonard's shoulders, fusses with his collar and begins to knot with deft, gentle fingers. Leonard swallows before he's entirely ready, isn't ready for any of it, in fact. He licks his lips to clean them of grease he's sure lingers. Jim tightens the tie, lets the knot rest at the perfect place.

"You're coming tomorrow, right?" Leonard asks, his voice a little hoarse, but steady. He hasn't seen that smile so close in a long time. Jim's gaze and hands are still settled somewhere close to the base of his throat.

"Wouldn't miss it."

_"Should I send Ms. Martinez in, Doctor?"_

Leonard has to move out of the moment to hit the intercom button on his desk phone. "Not yet, Jess. I'll come out."

He can't quite get back to that same place, where they were standing intimately close to one another, inappropriately close. He stands in an approximation of it, already misses the soft, electric touch of Jim's fingers.

_"Yes, Doctor."_

"Thanks for listening to me, Bones. Sorry I took up all your lunch."

"Wouldn't have had a damn lunch if it weren't for you."

"You liked that?"

"Very much. I'll see you tomorrow, Jim."

It's not intentional. Really, it's not. But they're both feeling a little flustered, a little rushed, and when they lean in for a chaste kiss on the cheek, at once satisfying and torturous, they meet in the middle. It's still chaste, soft and sweet and warm. It's perfect. Leonard stuns himself by not panicking, chasing an additional moment just for an instant after they should both have pulled back.

Jim looks dazed, a little flushed, when they do break apart, and Leonard feels a little guilty. They should talk about this, but he has someone waiting for an appointment he can't put off. "I'll see you tomorrow," is all he can manage.

"Yeah. Yeah, tomorrow. See you."

Jess stares unabashedly when Leonard shows Jim out, seeing him through the outer office door with a hand to the small of his back. It doesn't matter. Leonard smiles for the rest of the day.

Everyone is terrified. Everyone except Chapel, who offers him a cautious smile of her own when they encounter each other on the ward. Leonard nods back. He hasn't quite forgiven her for her part in the whole thing, but he thinks they'll get here.

He's still not inviting her to dinner, though. He's got enough damn meals to make as it is.

-

The soup starter is the easiest. Tomato and red pepper, suitable for everyone. Leonard makes that and the ice cream the night before, two batches, one with dairy and one without, clearly labelled and kept separate. One with a spoonful missing that Jo apparently thought he wouldn't notice.

"It's good, dad!" she says at least, when quizzed. She's perched on the kitchen counter, ostensibly helping, more picking at scraps of leftover pastry and carrot sticks, providing a commentary and casting a gimlet eye over Leonard's two separate cooking processes. She'd attempted peeling carrots and potatoes, Leonard not quite comfortable with handing her the knife she'd need for some of the other processes, but quickly bored of that. At least she checked the kale for bugs and washed it properly before that.

Leonard let her choose new tableware, too. She's not strict enough about her newfound vegetarianism to care herself, personally, but she was thrilled by the shopping experience, so Leonard counts it as a win.

He's not anxious about dinner. He's not.He's among friends. He saves lives for a living. He has pizza in the freezer -including the vegan kind- and far more bottles of wine than he could ever need to get them through it if anything goes wrong. It's not a big deal. It isn't.

Spock and Nyota arrive five minutes early, Jo chattering excitedly at them before they even make it through the door. Spock nods a greeting to Leonard, has brought a gift of a small potted plant that Jo is definitely going to over-water. Nyota has brought wine. She kisses Leonard's cheek and she smells wonderful, looks better, in a lovely long dress.

"It's good to see you," Leonard says, quite honestly. He hopes they'll have a chance to catch up, had always kind of accepted that she had fallen on Jim's side of their breakup but it doesn't really seem like she's spent much time around Jim, either. Maybe he'd assumed the same thing, had contented himself with his new college friends, left most of his old life behind until recently. 

"Thank you for inviting us. Something smells delicious."

"Well hopefully it tastes that way, too."

"I'm sure it will."

She seems to mean it, too. Leonard gets them started, tasks Jo with acting as their hostess while he ducks out to change, to make himself look a little more presentable after a morning spent in the kitchen. He showers quickly, hears the doorbell, knows the others will handle it. He's not going to control everything, had neither the time nor the energy. If they don't like it, they can make their own damn dinner.

When he's ready, he ducks into the kitchen to check everything is ready to go, grabs a beer. He won't have more than a couple, with Jo, but it makes him feel like part of things, rather than a glorified chef and waiter. 

He does stand back a little in the doorway to the dining room, just watching. Jo is talking shyly to Nyota, holding a wine glass filled with soda. She's wearing a dress, and also her boots. Over by the side table, where Leonard laid out the drinks and a few snacks, Scotty and Pavel are arguing, good-naturedly, animatedly, about something that involves far too many abbreviations for Leonard to understand. It sort of looks like Jim is showing Spock how something works on his phone. Spock looks visibly confused.

Leonard smiles to himself. He's happy, he realises, with the people he's assembled around him, despite everything he's done or because of it, somehow. He's never been the easiest person to get along with, he knows. He's so fortunate to have them all. 

A matter of weeks ago, his life had seemed so much smaller. He had Jo, his beautiful girl, so sweet and smart and funny. And Scotty, who gives him a conspiratorial wink over Pavel's shoulder when he sees Leonard standing there. He's one of the best friends Leonard could have asked for. He's been a real lifeline, has kept Leonard anchored to reality or helped him lose track when he needs it.

When Pavel notices Scotty's diverted attention, he turns too, offers Leonard a cautious smile. Leonard nods back. He seems like a decent guy. And he's holding his own in a conversation with Scotty, which Leonard doesn't see nearly enough.

Spock is- well, he's alright. Nyota seems to have sort of smoothed him out a bit around those jagged edges that so clash with Leonard's own. Nyota, who is standing tall, dignified and beautiful even as she laughs at something Jo is saying. They're good people.

And Jim. He looks so good, dressed in sinfully tight jeans and a mustard-coloured button-down that suits him aggravatingly well. He's here, in Leonard's home. The one he moved to, when he was getting away from all those old, painful memories.

Leonard has to duck out, emotions rising up that he thought he'd long suppressed. He leans back against the wall in the kitchen, takes a few deep breaths, tries to get himself under control. He'd terrified, because it's all coming together. For Gods sake, they kissed yesterday. They're dating in all-but name.

Except Leonard is doing the one thing he promised himself that he wouldn't. He's falling, and he still hasn't heard those words from Jim that would mean there's going to be someone to catch him. He has no guarantee, not even an indication, has heard nothing to indicate that Jim has any intention of-

He's heard nothing. Jim thinks words are meaningless, and his actions-

"Oh," he actually breathes to himself, so visceral is the realisation that hits him in that moment. It needs some way to escape, or Leonard feels like he'll explode.

Jim has not said the words. But it's true, that they would be meaningless, unless they were backed up with actions.

Actions like admitting what he did wrong. Explaining why he did them, and understanding that his reasons were faulty. He's done so much to correct them, has made himself better, found what he truly wants to do as a result. He even apologised, and Leonard knows that admitting fault, for Jim, is the same as failing. He so rarely tolerates it.

And then he'd been so aware of Leonard's insecurities that he'd laid his own bare. He'd made all the first moves, their exchange of phone numbers, suggesting their weekly plans. He'd agreed to Leonard's suggestion that they be just friends, even though it was clearly so much less than what he wanted.

Because he's always been clear about that, hasn't he? He hasn't been able to hold himself back, has always expressed that he wants more without being pushy. All Leonard has ever done is welcome him, allowed that behaviour and then continued to deny that he wants it despite the pain it's caused both of them every time they break apart. 

Even that supposedly huge step in a relationship has been glossed over, the act of introducing Leonard to his parents. Of course Leonard already knew them, but having him sit down with them for dinner, making him feel welcome in their home. Seeking their approval. Spending time, all of them, together. It's especially significant for Jim, who has so little experience of that successful and healthy family life. 

Every one of their interactions is taking on a stark new meaning, by then. That barbecue, the invitation offered so casually. Leonard has been invited back into Jim's life, to his home, to his friends. He's been included in the new, safe, structure that Jim had built around himself in the aftermath of their relationship. Given the opportunity to tear it all down. He's spent time with Hikaru, who knows him, who knows something of how Jim felt during those long years they were apart. Who could expose so much that Jim tries to hard to keep hidden. And Pavel, who sees him now, working at a job he so despises but hasn't told anyone about. Spock and Noyta, who knew him before, who knew them a couple, who never once judged or failed to support them.

It's all such a mess. 

And that goddamn lunch he'd brought Leonard, just yesterday. He'd been in the middle of his work day, and he'd been thinking of Leonard, had brought him food just because he cared about whether he ate or not. He'd gone to his regular damn coffee shop, spoken to the baristas he'd flirted with so often, and he'd changed his order, even knowing that it would bring questions his way. That people would ask. That he'd have to explain who Leonard was to him and why he was bringing him lunch.

It hadn't just been for Leonard's benefit, of course. Jim had something he'd needed to say, that he felt like he couldn't possibly share with anybody else. That he couldn't even share with his family, and he had come to Leonard expecting judgement and censure. But still seeking his opinion. Still consulting him, and on a decision that had a huge impact on his life. Even though making it would somehow reduce his standing among the people Leonard had surrounded himself with.

He'd been so concerned with what the people at that stupid fundraiser had thought, Leonard knows. He had thought it was just Jim playing along, enjoying his own social games, and of course that was a part of it, but he wanted to make a good impression. He was so concerned about it that he thought Leonard might encourage him to stay in a job in which he was miserable so he looked better. He had to know, from Phil or Leonard or life experience, how quickly news would travel in that hospital. That he was being seen with a department head and his presence would be noticed. He could have said no. They could have arranged something for another date. But instead he agreed to be seen with Leonard, to be associated with him, to leave himself open to so many questions and comments and judgments.

And he's done all of that, every damn thing, been honest and sincere and never once promised anything he wasn't sure he could back up, while Leonard demanded something of him that he wasn't able to give. That Leonard didn't even have the guts to offer in return. 

It's all too much. Leonard sinks, until he's sat on the floor, puts his head in his hands for long moments. He can't believe he's been so oblivious. That he'd been listening so hard for what he thought he wanted to hear that he had missed what was right in front of him. 

He hears scuffing footsteps approach, can't quite pull himself together before Jo asks, "Dad? You okay?"

"I've been so stupid."

"Well, yeah. Like, everyone says it's the things that you don't do that you end up regretting. You think that all those people are wrong and you're right? That is pretty stupid."

Leonard almost laughs. It does sound ridiculous, when she puts it like that. He looks at her. "You'd be alright with it? Me and Jim?"

"I like him. He's gonna teach me how to pick locks."

Jim has been promising Jo that he's going to stick around. The fact that he agreed to meet her at all, that he invited her into his life, was so nervous about what she was going to think of him. That's meaningful. Good, even.

The content of those promised lessons, less so. 

"You're teaching my daughter to pick locks?" he pulls Jim aside to ask, brings him out into the hallway with a hold on his arm that could be shaken off but isn't. 

Jim just grins at him, unrepentant. He has no idea of the extent of Leonard's realisations or the depth of his emotions, has been trying so fucking hard and never expected anything in return, just accepted Leonard's continued reluctance as his due.

"It's a useful skill!" he has the gall to argue, though, and Leonard glares at him. He can be in love with the man but still think he's an ass.

"Not to the father who's got to try and keep her out of his liquor cabinet, it isn't!"

"You've got a few years to come up with something."

Jim's smile goes softer when he looks at Leonard, he realises then. Not when he's around his friends, or when he's feeling particularly relaxed. There's a special, subtle little curve to his lips, a brightness in his eyes, a trusting vulnerability that's just for Leonard.

Leonard's still holding onto his arm, not tight, just- well, just so he can hold him. He moves his hand, strokes the back of his fingers down the length of Jim's forearm to thread their fingers together. Jim stares at them, then at him, looking so soft and fragile that Leonard just wants to gather him up in his arms, hold him closer. Start to make up for everything they've both been through, over the years.

"What about when I lock the door to the bedroom? What if we need some privacy?"

There's a moment of stunned, hopeful silence, before- "We?" Jim sounds shattered, broken. 

He doesn't move when Leonard sways gently towards him, needing to be closer, to see what changes in those eyes when he says, finally, "I'd like us to be more than friends."

Jim's breath catches. "I thought- you needed me to say-"

"I just needed to hear you. I'm sorry I wasn't listening, before."

Jim is still stunned, at once hopeful and disbelieving. He licks his lips, doesn't move away when Leonard leans in, makes a helpless, lost little sound when Leonard finally closes the gap between them and kisses him.

It makes Jim sob, and then clutch Leonard tight when he would otherwise have moved back, concerned. "Please don't stop. Not yet," is murmured against Leonard's lips, Jim's hands shaking where they're clenched into fists in the front of Leonard's shirt. And if Leonard could have doubted his words, there's no mistaking the cautious lap of Jim's tongue at the seam of his lips, a sweet, desperate plea for more. 

The realisation hits Leonard hard. The kiss they'd shared the previous day had been the first time Jim hadn't been the one to initiate physical contact between them. It had been mutual, or accidental, but it hadn't just been him. And today, this is the first time Leonard's kissed him in three years.

He never wants to stop. He lets his hands settle on Jim's waist, sneak up beneath the hem of Jim's shirt to touch skin, real and warm, pulls him a little closer until his chest, taut and slim and heaving, just brushes Leonard's with every breath.

"God, I missed you," he confesses, breathes it into Jim's skin like a prayer and Jim is nodding, frantically, cradling Leonard's face to guide him, to keep him from going too far, to seal their mouths together and tear down any hope Leonard had of being able to retain conscious thought. Jim has always been good at this, is throwing everything he has into kissing Leonard. It's heady and intoxicating, and Leonard knows that only time, only regaining that trust will smooth the desperate edges from Jim's reactions.

"Slow down, sweetheart," he soothes, and Jim whimpers his objection. It takes a few moments before Leonard can convince him to stop, can coax him gently down until they're face to face, breathing heavily, still so close they can feel each other's warmth. Jim is trembling, and Leonard noses at his cheek, caresses the skin at his waist, touches another kiss to the corner of his mouth until he settles a little. "I'm not going anywhere. I promise."

That makes Jim shudder, but he nods anyway, acknowledging the sentiment. With a query in his eyes, he raises his chin just a little, sighs softly when Leonard kisses him again, and finally loses a little of his tension.

"Are you doing anything tomorrow night?" Leonard asks. Jim settling more comfortably against him is distracting, but he genuinely needs to serve dinner soon, or everything will go terribly wrong, and he does have some sense of responsibility.

He sees the moment where Jim decides to take the leap with him. "Well, I was going to see if my boyfriend was busy-"

"Come over. I'll order pizza and we can make out on the couch."

"I'd like that."

-

The evening goes surprisingly well after that. Jim is a very efficient waiter, for which Leonard is deeply grateful, because he can barely think straight, all his carefully planned meals suddenly deeply complicated when he's faced with the dilemma of placing another dish in the oven or staring shamelessly at Jim's ass in those jeans. He keeps getting caught off guard by sweet little casual kisses to his cheek, affectionate bumps to his hip, too, Jim looking a little less like he's expecting to be chastised for it every time.

-

"Ugh, you guys are gonna be disgusting, aren't you?" Jo gripes, when she notices them holding hands at the dinner table. She’s smiling, though, and Leonard catches Jim sneaking her an extra slice of cake, later.

-

"I'm happy for you." Nyota smiles at him, when she pops into the kitchen to assist him with the main course.

-

"I have got to stop betting on your love life, Pavel beats me every time," is Scotty's lament, although he's smiling while he says it.

"How much did you lose this time?" Leonard asks him, slapping his hand away when he attempts to stick fingers in the frosting of his cake. He’s wielding the piping bag with more confidence than ability, but as long as he covers the damn thing in chocolate, he can’t see that it really matters.

"Don't ask. Swear Jim is giving him hints."

"Well, this one was down to me, so you've got nobody to blame but yourself."

"Finally got up the nerve to say something?"

“Or to stop talking and do something.”

“Well- you look good together.”

“Thanks, Scotty. I know that must have hurt you to say it.”

“You have no idea.”

-

“When I first moved here, I stayed with my uncle,” Pavel tells him. Leonard blinks at him in surprise, hadn’t heard him approach. “He lives a little outside the city. Has a small farm there. He used to let me feed the pigs. They would eat through anything. It’s supposed to be one of the best ways to get rid of a human body. If that ever ends up becoming necessary, of course. I still speak to him, sometimes.”

“Are you- threatening me?”

“Just making conversation.” Pavel shrugs, gives him an angelic smile, slips away.

 _Holy shit,_ Leonard mouths to himself.  

-

“I promised Nyota I would speak with you.”

“I’m sure you said something heartfelt and yet entirely unmemorable, Spock.”

“Quite so. The meal was impressive.”

“Thank you.”

“I would never have guessed you did not regularly prepare vegan food.”

“Okay, you’ve got to be here for a few minutes to make it look realistic, I know, but can we just stand in silence? Please?”

There is the ghost of a smile on Spock’s face when he says, “Of course.”

-

“We could hide your liquor under a false bottom in your box of sex toys.” Jim suggests, over pizza, the next day. They have managed to keep their hands off each other for long enough to eat, but they’re curled up on the couch, legs tangled, closer than is realistically comfortable. Their arms bump if they try to take a bite of their respective slices at the same time.

“I don’t have a box of sex toys.”

“What? Of course you do. Doesn’t everyone?”

“No.”

“But- before-”

“Those were all yours.”

“Shit, really? Well I’ll buy you some. And the box. You can provide the liquor.”

“You’re a true philanthropist.” Leonard grimaces as he trips a little over the word.

“Am I making you tongue-tied, Bones?”

“You’re just overloading my sarcasm response. Can’t get it out fast enough.”

“Damn right you can’t.” Jim tosses his pizza slice aside, twists into Leonard’s space, reaches for the fly of his pants instead.

Leonard sees no reason to stop him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You may have noticed this work is now part of a series!
> 
> Check out part 2 to see what might have happened if Leonard had just hooked up with Scotty instead, on the night they met.


End file.
